The War of the Provinces
by MovinForward
Summary: Fifteen years after the Oblivion crisis, the provinces have seperated. They are surrounded by war, battle, and uneasiness. Sakov, a dunmer fighter, will fight to save his kin, but will he be too late to stop the coming darkness?
1. Prologue

**Hey readers! The plot and the characters are made up by me, but the places and some other stuff are by Bethesda. Anyway...**

**Hello and welcome to my first elder scrolls fan fiction! This story will be updated frequently, usually about once a week. First, if you're going to take the time to read the story, I'd really appreciate reviews. They let me know what I'm doing right and wrong and help to improve my writing. So, enough about this, it's your turn. Time to read!**

Black Marsh, Borderline

The dark elf leaned against a wall and laid his head back, his black hair falling down to his muscled shoulders. His skin was a mix of brown, black and blue, and it shone bright in the moonlight. He wore light armor of black leather and on his hip was strapped a fairly long sword, which swung as he leaned back. He was Sakov, son of Savon who was a dark elf who led the house of Da' Raethe, one of the five houses of Hlaluu. In the homeland of the dark elves called Morrowind, three main houses broke up the people and governed the province. Within these houses were smaller ones, meant to support their houses decisions and fight if need be.

When Sakov was born, many expected him to be a mage, as his father was. But Sakov was no mage. He was a skilled warrior, and although he was only 26, he was an excellent fighter. By the standards of the dark elves, he was an adult for the dunmer, another name for the dark skinned elves, who lived to be many centuries old. Sakov's fighting skills had put him here in Black Marsh, along side 20 other dark elves. They had been here for 3 weeks, guarding a pass that connected Black Marsh to Morrowind.

Sakov had not heard much why they were guarding here. He had thought the dark elves were on fine terms with the Argonians, the lizard residents of Black Marsh. But after being here many weeks and not being brought back to his homeland, he knew something was happening.

He stretched out, and groaned. By the light of the moon, he could tell his shift was over. He looked out towards the dark trees and shivered a bit. As he walked back to the barracks, he let his keen eyes look out over the dark swamps and trees that made up Black Marsh. Seeing nothing suspicious, he grabbed the handle of the door, but before he opened it, another elf came out. His skin was a grayish blue color, but his hair like Sakov's was black. He wore the same light black armor, but had a bow and quiver on his back and a sword positioned on his hip.

This elf was Drizzon do Thran, one of the more experienced elves stationed at Black Marsh. He nodded to Sakov and walked on. Sakov grabbed the handle again and opened the door. The barracks was a long building that had wool cots on each side for sleeping. Sakov walked past the sleeping elves silently and found an empty cot. Rules said they weren't allowed to remove their armor for sleeping, so Sakov only took off his sword and sheath, and lay down. The sounds of chirps and calls of creatures were the last sounds he heard before dropping into a well needed sleep.

An hour later

Sakov woke up as if someone had doused him in water. Although nothing would out of the ordinary to a human, but the elf's keen senses told him something was wrong. He heard nothing, not even the crickets chirping. Silently he strapped on his sword and crept out of the tent. All was dark, but the elf could see very clearly with his eyes that were accustomed to the dark.

He pressed himself flat against the stone building and slid around to the other side. Still flat against the wall and nearly invisible to any who might be watching, he turned the corner and looked out into the dark canopy of the forest, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He stopped as he heard a stick crack from behind him. He turned around and heard the twang of a bow being released. Instinctively he dove to the side as an arrow buried itself in the ground where he had been mere seconds before.

By then all of the dark elves had awoken from the sound. They came out of the barracks like shadows, readying their bows and swords.

Sakov ran away from the archer and outstretched his hand, and delved into his mind to perform magic. He cast a spell of fire in the general direction of the archer, more to scare him than score a hit. He ran towards the other elves, passing Drizzon, who was sending arrows into the darkness.

Then all went silent. Sakov drew his sword and turned around. He watched the darkness intently with his reddish eyes hoping for any sign of a movement. He saw a dark form in a tree and as he strained to see more, it released an arrow that flew past Sakov and hit another elf, pressing him to the ground. Sakov sent a ball of fire at the shape. The fire hit the form and it went aflame and fell off the tree.

Sakov looked back into the dark and cursed as he saw multiple forms hiding in trees. At once the forms released a swarm of arrows at the elves. They soared in and crashed against the dunmer ranks, wounding some and killing ten. One came at Sakov, but he rolled to the left and slammed one away with his sword. The archers drew their bows again, and on an unseen signal, realeased. The arrows flew in again, and four dunmer were sent falling to the ground as arrows peirced through their armor. Sakov batted a few arrows away but one hit him in the shoulder, burrowing into the bone.

"Cowards." He growled, grimacing from the sharp pain.

Without thinking he sprinted towards the trees and leaped up into one. He kicked down with his feet, launching him up eight feet, landing next to one of the dark forms. Up close they looked to be Argonians, but they wore dark masks. Sakov lashed out with his sword and cut the Argonian's bow in half. Before the Argonian could draw his sword, Sakov grabbed the Argonian and turned him so he acted as a shield from five arrows that were speeding towards Sakov.

Each arrow hit the Argonian, and as soon as the last one hit, Sakov crouched and launched himself at another archer. He flew fifteen feet through the air and landed next to his target. With a quick stab, the archer flew off the tree and hit the ground with a crack. He reached to his boot and grabbed a throwing knife, and in one fluent motion sent it flying towards an argonian archer. His aim was true, and it crashed into the archer leg, pushing him back of the branch he crouched on. Five more arrows flew toward Sakov, and he leaped to the side.

He flew through the air, and grabbed onto a thick brach, still keeping his mometum. He shifted his weight and flipped across the branch and again he was airborne. He shifted himself into a ball and as soon as he was in distance he lashed out with his foot at an Argonian in front of him, hitting its throat. The argonian went into a spasm of choking and leaped from the tree, escaping Sakov's deadly blade.

But Sakov kept his focus on the falling Argonian for too long. He heard the sound of four bowstrings being released and as he turned to face them, he was hit with three arrows, one in the lung, another in the leg, and in the stomach. He was overcome with a feeling of extreme nausea before he noticed he was falling backwards. A second later, his head hit a rock and he fell limp.

**So, what did you think? Tell me what you thought and why by hitting the review button. **


	2. The Bloody River

**Hello to readers! This chapter isn't too long, but not too short either. Thanks to all that have reviewed! Enjoy!**

Morrowind, Vivec City, Council Chambers

Ten dark elves stood around a stone table. These elves represented 10 houses within the primary 3 houses. Redoran, Hlaluu, and Telvanni. Not all of the representatives were there, primarily those of House Telvanni, the house of the proud wizards. The leader of the council was an old elf with gray hair that fell to his waist. Around the table were a mix of politicians, mages, warriors, and historians. In the past, the council had other races in it, but since the provinces have separated, the council was now made up only of dark elves.

They all looked different, but one stood out from the rest. This elf's name was Savon, one of the most powerful dark elves in all of Morrowind, perhaps even one of the most powerful dark elves in all of Morrowind's history. His shoulder length hair was graying, but he was only 150 years old, still young in the lifespan of the dunmer. He wore gray light armor with the crest of Da' Raethe, the inner house he led, in the center, a flame surrounded by wind. The pauldrons on his shoulders were made of black leather, as were his greaves and boots. Strapped to his belt was a medium length sword that was black. Its hilt was wrapped in leather, as was its sheath. This sword was the legendary sword called Dal kav with the enchantment to never break, and to cut through almost anything. He had won this sword from the powerful fiend Galvoran in the late years of his youth.

Savon crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at a politician from House Redoran, who led the inner house of Gaven Ra (Solid Stone).

"I request that we remove soldiers from the Summerset Isles. I have a new report showing the high elves have attacked the outpost again." The politician said in a strong voice. "If we don't move soon, those Altmer will have taken out our whole group we sent in!"

Some of the representatives nodded while others shook their heads. Savon cleared his throat and began to speak,

"I see your point, but tell me, would it be wise to take out our only foothold we have ever had in the Isles? I would suggest sending more soldiers. I will lead them, if necessary. All we need to do is secure the outpost and make a strong port if possible." Savon spoke in his firm voice. "This will ensure that if they wage war on us, we will have a spot to defend and attack."

Almost all of the representatives nodded and spoke their agreement. A second later a slim elf in light clothing ran into the room looking out of breath. He looked around the room wildly.

"What is it, messenger?" The leader of the council asked, a little frustrated that their council had been interrupted.

"The outpost in Black Marsh has been attacked!" He yelled. "It seems none have survived!"

With a feeling of dread, Savon stood, his thoughts on his son, Sakov.

"I must go." He said and he turned for the door.

"Savon! SAVON!" The old leader yelled after him. But Savon was gone.

He sprinted out of the room and leaped off the balcony outside. He fell twenty feet and rolled into a landing to absorb the impact. If the fall caused him any pain, he didn't notice as he sprinted through the crowded streets of Vivec City. The City was built in the middle of a lake with bridges connecting the different sections. He ran to the temple, passing many confused citizens and ordinators. He ran across a bridge connecting one section of the city, to the temple.

The temple rose up like a huge giant, with its spires reaching high into the sky. The temple was a place that many went to, to pay their respects to the god Vivec, who lived in the great temple beyond, that none had entered except the Nerevarine himself. The Nerevarine was a legendary warrior who had cleansed the land of an evil god, then disappeared, saying he was going to lands of Akivir, a land far from Tamriel, the lands that made up the provinces. Floating in the sky above the temple was a huge asteroid that was now the base of the Ministry of Truth, a place that also held prisoners. The huge asteroid had hung there for centuries, the story being that Vivec had saved the citizens of Morrowind from the asteroid by holding it in the sky, and stopping it, and it had been there ever since.

Savon ran into the temple, passing priests and stopped in the center of the huge building. This room was very spatial surrounded by shrines that many prayed over. In the center was a painted ring. Inside of this circle, one could use a difficult spell that would instantly bring them to another place. With barely a thought, Savon raised his hand and watched as his body started to dissolve and in a second later, he stood in Black Marsh.

He looked up to see a ruined building he guessed was the barracks, and bodies, everywhere. The barracks were torn apart with the stone blocks lying everywhere. He walked through the bodies, searching for life. But he saw none. It had been a massacre. He saw no bodies from any enemies. He heard a rushing noise to the left of him. He turned that way and set a steady walk towards it. A trail of blood led him through bushes, getting closer and closer. He walked through two trees and came across a river. But it wasn't only water flowing in it. It was blood. The smell clogged Savon's senses and he took a step back. A tear started to form in his reddish eyes.

But then he noticed a flicker in the corner of his eye. He turned towards it and saw the flicker was something reflecting in the woods. He followed it parting trees with magic until he came across the body of another dark elf whose sword was shining in the dim sun. His son. Arrows protruded from his body, and his head lay on a rock. Savon knew he had to be dead. Savon reached down to see if there was a pulse.

That was when he heard the bows release. Ten arrows were launched at Savon going so fast that almost no dark elf would be able to react. Almost every dark elf. Savon kicked his feet down and performed a back flip ten feet in the air, over the arrows. With magic Savon grabbed the arrows and shot them back at their owners. Each arrow met their mark. Savon landed in a crouch, planting his feet firmly in the ground. Each of the attackers was argonians. He stood up again and ran back to his son. Again he reached down to check if there was a pulse. His hand touched Sakov's wrist but he felt nothing. But then a slow beat started. He was alive. Savon let out a relieved sigh thanking the gods.

Using his power of healing, Savon healed the skin as he pulled the arrows out. He also healed the damaged inner organs. While this would leave most mages on the ground sweating and breathing hard, Savon's breathing barely changed. Next he used magic to levitate Sakov into the air, so as Savon walked, Sakov's body floated next to him. Savon resumed his search of survivors. As he walked through the bodies, he pondered why the argonians were doing this. The Argonians had never attacked the dark elves.

"But perhaps it is we the dunmer who are to blame." Sakov said softly. "Perhaps they did not take well to the guarding of the border."

They had sent men to guard the border because of the constant uneasiness. With most of the races at war, it was now common to have men guarding the passes between provinces. Savon shook his head at the problems they were facing. He looked down and saw a pale dunmer. But he knew this dunmer. He was Drizzon, a well-known fighter. He too had been hit with arrows, one even in the neck. Savon reached down to see if he was alive. He too had a pulse, but it was even fainter than Sakov's. As with Sakov, he healed him, taking out the arrow shafts and touched Drizzon's chest and he floated into the air.

Sakov continued his search, cursing every time he couldn't find a pulse on an elf. He came to another elf, one who had one arrow in him, one in the lung. But Savon felt a pulse, and after healing the elf, he continued the search. He found none others alive. He moved back with the other levitating elves to the spot he had arrived in. Concentrating with his mind, he found the magic and brought it forth, bringing them back to the temple.

**Finished? Good. If you can, leave me a review, because I will really appreciate it. Also, if you're into Elder Scrolls lore and you're thinking, I've never heard of inner houses within houses, know I made that part up.**


	3. Ron the Barbare

Morrowind, Suran, Bar

A week later

11:45 p.m.

The blond Breton sat with his back to the barkeeper. He lifted a glass of wine to his lips, sipping a small amount. His fair skin would stand out in a bar full of dunmer, so he was hooded and masked. He wore a long dark red robe, concealing a short blade and five daggers. He was Ron the Barbare. The most powerful mage in western Tamriel. With him were two other masked Bretons. When they received the signal, they would begin.

15 minutes later

The bar was now packed with dunmer. Ron the Barbare waited silently. The signal would come soon. As promised, a loud whine began to sound. It got louder and louder, forcing those at the bar to cover their ears. Ron the Barbare stood up.

The whining stopped. Ron ripped his mask off, making a few elves gasp.

"People of Morrowind! Fifty Breton were killed by your kind at Undorah. Fifty!" He yelled on the edge of madness. "We did nothing to deserve such an act. I am here to bring the wrath of my kin."

He reached out his arm and sent a stream of lightning out. It hit a dunmer in the chest, killing him and then spread to another, and another. Reaching to his hip, he let forth the five magical daggers, which spun around the room, then spun back to his hand. Soon all the dunmer lay dead on the floor. Ron the Barbare took his wine and had another sip.

Morrowind, Central Highlands

Savon was atop his black steed and racing towards Suran. They had just heard. The Breton had destroyed Suran scouts said. Ron the Barbare. He and Ron had had dueled before. Fate had brought them back. After Savon had returned to Vivec with the living elves, he had brought them to a healer, even though he was more skilled. He had been called to the council where scouts reported what they had seen. Ron the Barbare had blocked out the means of teleporting into Suran by magic. So Savon had to ride to stop him.

The wind whipped across his gray brown face, sending his hair flying back. In the distance Savon could see smoke in the sky. And every second brought him closer. He was a little afraid, but also angry. He stopped outside of Suran near the bridge. The whole city was in ruins. Some were still alight with fire and while some buildings remained upright, others had fallen. The bridge too had parts missing so Savon didn't want to take the risk of walking across it. Savon dismounted and reached into his mind, bringing the magic of levitation.

The magic flowed through his body making him feel strong. Making sure his sheath was on tight, Savon sprinted to the beginning of the bridge and jumped into the air. He flew up higher and higher, before dropping slightly, and levitating above the river surrounding Suran. The place had an ominous look to it with no one in sight. He touched down on the western wall, eyes searching for the Breton. He crouched down and snuck to the left. He crept for about a minute, until he could see into the center of Suran. There stood three figures. Waiting for him.

Taking a deep breath Savon launched himself at the figures unsheathing his blade at the same time. He landed ten feet behind them, rolling to take the impact off the jump. And there he was. Ron the Barbare. His red cloak fell down to the stone floor and his hood masked most of his features. Next to him were two other Bretons, similarly dressed.

"Ahh…Savon!" Ron exclaimed. "I had a certain feeling we would meet again soon."

Savon narrowed his eyes.

"Do you like my handiwork?" Ron said turning towards some burning buildings. Savon pointed his sword at Ron's back and said firmly,

"By the law of Vvardenfell and Morrowind, you are under arrest!"

Ron the Barbare turned back and smiled,

"Oh but you see Savon, I just cannot agree with you," Ron sneered. "Now run back before I get angry."

Savon readied himself and said clearly,

"Then defend yourself."

Savon launched himself at Ron throwing his blade Dal Kav out at the last second with supernatural speed. Ron did nothing. The blade hit Ron's chest but bounced off, and Ron's skin glowed. Savon rolled backwards and knew that Ron had prepared a spell of Stone skin, allowing the user to be invulnerable to attacks until he had been hit enough times. Savon would have used the spell, but such a spell could only be used with a scroll.

Ron whipped his hand out, sending a ball of fire at Savon. It exploded clouding the area with smoke. But when the smoke cleared, Savon stood there in the midst of the fire not moving. Ron cursed himself, remembering the extreme fire resistance the dark elves had. He drew out his slender short sword, as did his two companions.

Savon sent a lightning bolt at the three Breton, who rolled to the side. As soon as one of the apprentice Bretons landed, Savon sent another lightning bolt that hit him in the chest. The Breton groaned and fell down. Now Savon ran in close swinging Dal Kav at Ron's head but then changing its direction at the last second. Ron stopped Savon's sword, a high ringing sound echoing through the buildings. Ron's apprentice stabbed out with his silver sword, but Savon was too quick and flipped over the apprentice and stabbed down at his head when he was above. The Breton collapsed. Now it was just Savon and Ron.

Savon started to circle around Ron, and Ron started to circle the other way. Ron flashed out his hand and a speeding ball of light hit Savon in the head, blinding him and stinging his eyes. Savon yelped and jumped back. He reached a hand to his eyes and removed the spell with a spell of dispel. Ron was a few yards away and running towards Savon. Savon ran to meet him and at the same time, the two swung their swords at each other, and they hit with a loud ring.

Savon pushed back and sent Ron flying back several yards and landing on the ground. Savon leaped at him and swung at Ron's hip but the Stone skin absorbed the blow. Savon hit again but to no avail for Ron's sword blocked his.

Ron sent his free hand out and sent a gust of wind at Savon, which pushed him back a few meters. Ron was now on his feet again and sent a lightning bolt at Savon, who pushed down with his legs and jumped high enough to avoid the lightning. While he was airborne, Savon sent a spell at Ron that would dull his senses and his strength. The spell flew at Ron in the shape of a swirling red mass, and hit him in the leg. Immediately Ron felt his strength drain and it was hard to even hold on to his sword.

Savon landed on the ground. Ron tried to ready himself but Savon leaped at him and slashed forward and hit Ron, who absorbed the blow with Stone Skin. Savon attacked again meeting Ron's sword, but Savon angled his down and hit Ron in the leg.

Ron staggered back with a bloody leg; the stone skin had worn off. But so had Savon's spell. Ron stood strait again, ignoring the pain in his left leg. He roared and sent a stream of frost at Savon. The gust hit Savon who fell back, feeling many parts of his body now frostbit. Ron charged in to end the fight with his sword over his head. But Savon put his sword out at the last second and it went into Ron and tore his lung. Ron fell back cursing as Savon stood up.

"I give you the chance to come with me to the prison!" Savon declared.

"NEVER!" Ron gasped and raised his hand into the sky. And he was gone.

"And now he is probably back in his homeland." Savon thought grimly. He walked over to one of the dead Breton's and reached into his pockets. But he found nothing. Nothing to tell him why these Breton had come. He reached into the sky and in a second, found himself back in the temple.


	4. The Journey

Vivec, Hlaluu, Private Rooms

3:45 a.m.

Savon pushed open the door and entered his house. His house was not grand, like most expected it to be. It was one story, built like all the other buildings in the central square. The walls were light brown, made of sandstone. There was an assortment of furniture, but none of it was fancy. On the couch lay Sakov, resting peacefully. As Savon walked in, his wife Dalvane walked out to greet him. She had black hair and her face was lighter than Savon's. He gave her a hug and went to pat Sakov on the head. Dalvane noticed that Savon was limping.

"Savon? Are, are you hurt?" She said, her voice full of concern. Savon turned to her and gave a small smile.

"No, don't worry." He said not wanting to worry her. "I, I just hurt my leg a bit."

She gave him a look.

"Savon," Dalvane said annoyed. "When will we be able to share the truth to one another? Now tell me what really happened."

So he told her. He told her of the destruction of Suran, of Ron the Barbare, and how Ron escaped. By the end she looked puzzled.

"But why would they attack us? I thought they were at war with the Bosmer?"

Savon sighed, "I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say it might have something to do with what happened at Undorah. But that was an accident! We had no choice but to kill the Breton, the Orcs were coming up through the dungeons, and they were still in there!"

Dalvane stared past Savon, lost in thought.

"Perhaps time will tell." She concluded.

Savon nodded and patted his wife on the back before going into his room. He took off his armor and put on a gray shirt and black shorts and climbed into bed. And within a minute, he was asleep.

10:46 a.m.

Vivec, Training Area

The two padded swords met and swerved away, with a thump. Savon wove his sword up and down but each attack was stopped by Sakov's sword. Savon crouched back and leaped forward, swinging the sword sideways but in the last second kicking out and hitting Sakov in the chest. Sakov staggered back a few yards before looking up to his father who had put down his sword.

"Always expect what may not happen," Savon instructed. "Always be ready for any type of attack, for a good opponent wins by using fakes and unexpected moves. So when I attack like I did," Savon did the movement in slow motion. "Position your sword so you can deflect either a sword swing, or kick."

Sakov readied himself and the fight continued. Sakov stabbed out, but spun before Savon could block his sword. Sakov spun and swung left, but Savon ducked and brought his padded sword towards Sakov's leg. Sakov kicked away Savon's sword and brought the tip of his to Savon's neck.

Sakov took a step back and let his father stand up again.

"Excellent Sakov!" Savon exclaimed. "Just remember in a real battle, you probably won't be able to kick away your opponent's sword."

Sakov nodded and walked back towards the door.

"Hey you!" Shouted a dark elf. Sakov turned. It was Hiran, a proud dark elf that was jealous of Sakov. "I challenge you to a duel! C'mon wimp!"

Savon watched from the side, a small smile playing on his face.

"I accept your challenge." Sakov said.

Hiran smirked and unsheathed his padded blade. Sakov readied himself and Hiran leaped at him swinging his sword over hand. Sakov smiled at the foolish move and twisted to the side to dodge. Hiran rolled back up and swung his sword sideways. Sakov batted it away with his sword and twirled his blade forwards so Hiran had to jump back awkwardly to avoid the blow. Sakov drove his sword in again. Overhand, side, thrust, backhand. With each blow Sakov gained speed and strength until he hit Hiran's blade away with a side cut. Sakov kicked Hiran away from his fallen blade and leaped above the proud elf and pointed the tip of his sword at Hiran's chest.

"Nice try." Sakov said. Hiran turned brick red as Sakov walked away. Hiran grabbed his sword and threw it at Sakov, a blow that would knock him out. But Sakov turned at hit the sword away, breaking it in half.

"Idiot." Sakov muttered. He turned to the door again and walked out.

Vivec, Council Chambers

11:56

An hour later Sakov sat in his fathers place at the council chambers. Savon had been called to Balmora to settle some problems the guard had been having. In the council room were only Sakov, and the leader of the council.

"So, Sakov." The old leader huffed. "In this war between provinces, we need help. It seems some of the other provinces are joining to work together. It is my wish that we get help too."

Sakov nodded.

"The only province I can think of joining us is Skyrim." The leader continued. Sakov's eyes widened. "I want to send a party to ask them to join us in the war that will certainly come. I would have asked your father to do this, but he is away, and I want to send someone new. Like you."

Sakov nodded again. "I would be honored." He replied.

"You will have to travel by boat. And it will take many days." The leader croaked. "I will send Drizzon do Thran with you as well and some other elves. The boat can leave either in a half hour or tomorrow. Since you will lead this expedition, it is your choice."

Savon was silent for a few seconds before he said, "Have it leave in a half an hour. I am ready."

The leader clapped his hands. "Excellent! I will send word for your companions to meet you in the Temple District where the boat is set. But know it will be a hard journey, and many monsters and pirates have been reported in those waters."

Sakov nodded for he had heard this from his father. He stood up.

"I shall hope to see you soon." Sakov said bowing. And he left the room.


	5. The Raiding Party

Morrowind, Eastern Sea, AD E50

9:32

Sakov walked to the head of the boat and looked out over the sea. He wore light armor colored reddish gray that provided little warmth against the cold air. They had been sailing for three days. The ocean spread out like a huge blanket, covering everything. He shivered slightly as a breeze went by. The smell of the sea made him feel alive, and it brought back memories of his childhood. He remembered when he and Savon had traveled by boat, all around Tamriel. He had been 9.

He inhaled the wonderful smell and heard light footsteps behind him. Drizzon walked up in the same armor as Sakov, it was the armor that showed they were from Morrowind. In the center of the cuirass was a moon and star, the symbol of the legendary Nerevar. The Nerevar had left Morrowind many years ago, to go to the land of Akivir.

Drizzon put his hand on the railing and let out a long breath.

"There is a storm coming." Drizzon said slowly. "The men are worried, and they think we should head east to avoid it."

Sakov said nothing at first; he too had seen the way the clouds had stopped moving, and the way the water was going south.

"Yes," Sakov said after a few seconds. "But we will go North East, East would delay this already long trip too much."

Drizzon nodded and walked off, to inform the elf that steered the vessel.

The vessel was a two-mast schooner called the Bladerunner. It was a light strong ship, with ballistae's in the lower deck. They flew Morrowind's flag high, so any pirates would think twice before attacking.

But Sakov had a bad feeling about this journey to Skyrim. They hadn't seen a ship or a sign of life since they left. But perhaps this was just because it was dangerous now to be on a ship in the middle of this war. That was what Savon tried to tell himself.

A day later

The storm had come as promised; it hit them right before they got out of it. Luckily they hadn't received the worst of it.

But now they faced larger problems. This area was known for the many pirates that waited here. Sakov planned to travel through as fast as possible.

The mist was like a blanket, blocking the view of the Bladerunner.

A dark elf named Vistar Ka stood in the crow's nest with a spyglass to his eye.

The mist blocked all sights, and he could barely see past the bow of the bladerunner. He looked in a different direction and saw the outline of something in the mist. He pushed the spyglass closer to his eye and saw what looked like a sail. He looked even closer and saw a flag. A flag showing a skull with two bones crossing behind it. He jumped back, startled. He turned and started to ring a loud bell.

"PIRATES!" He yelled.

The deck of the Bladerunner broke out in action. Archers ran to the side, mages to the back, warriors to the front, and the other men to the ballistae's. Vistar Ka jumped out of the crow's nest, sliding down a long pole to the deck. With a thump, his feet met the deck and he ran to fetch his bow.

Sakov ran about searching for the mage Rotilan, the most powerful mage on board. Sakov found him exciting his room scowling.

"Pirates!" he growled. "I'll show them what I think of them!"

He tried to pass Sakov, but Sakov grabbed his shoulder and turned him back.

"Put a spell on the ship to strengthen it. Also I want you to set their sails on fire if they are not protected by another mage." Sakov said quickly. "The only way we're going to win this, is if we beat them to the punch. Good luck Rotilan."

Sakov walked off loosening his sword from its sheath. Rotilan walked in the other direction.

Sakov looked out at the approaching ship. It was much larger than theirs, perhaps twice as large. They had several catapults on board, as well as many ballistae's below. Sakov stared in amazement, how could they win? But then Sakov noticed the ship had stopped. With a loud creak it sent five flaming missiles from the ballistae, and three huge boulders from the catapults.

The missiles would have destroyed the ships, if the mages hadn't set shields to protect the Bladerunner.

"Return the attack!" Sakov yelled. Five missiles flew from the Bladerunner, pushing the ship back. The missiles collided, but bounced off from shielding spells. And the attacks continued. When the pirate vessel appeared to have no missiles left, it creaked and started to turn to one side slightly.

The pirate ship was lowering tens of small boarding ships into the water. They rowed towards the Bladerunner a high speed. Sakov turned to his crew who stood silent behind him.

"They're sending a raiding party!" Sakov exclaimed. "Ready yourself."

Sure enough, in a second, a hook secured around the side of the ship. A ladder rose and hit the side. Many more ladders started to rise up, and pirates started climbing as well. The pirates were a mix of races, though most were dark elves. They had sharp cutlasses in their hands but wore no armor. They hopped onto the deck, and the fight broke loose. The two sides rushed at each other while some stayed back, shooting arrows and spells into the throng. Sakov rushed in and blocked a cut and returned with his own. Sakov's sword hit the pirate squarely and he flew off the deck. Sakov turned and stabbed out again, letting out a war cry.

Rotilan had applied the spell to strengthen the ship, and had tried to set the pirate's sails on fire, but they were protected. Now he was in the battle. He sent a lightning bolt at a group of pirates. All of them flew off the deck. Rotilan growled and ran to the side, as a volley of arrows came close. He ran forward taking out a long knife and stabbing a pirate. He ducked as another came at him, and stabbed again.

Sakov ran back, looking for an advantage. Then an idea came to him. He yelled and jumped over the side of the boat and fell in the water. A wave of icy water met him. But Sakov pushed the pain away and swam to one of the raiding boats. He pulled himself in, and turned the row around and paddled backwards. After a minute, he arrived at the pirate ship. He jumped up and grabbed a rope leading up to the deck. With only his arms, he pulled himself up with extreme strength. He rolled onto the deck and stood up. A surprised dark elf pirate stood there. He looked to be a wizard, and Savon guessed he was protecting the ship. Before the wizard could ready a spell, Sakov sent a knife flying at him that connected solidly. The wizard staggered back but Sakov had already rushed forward and stabbed him.

Sakov ran back and climbed up a ladder to the captain's cabin. In he went falling into a crouch as he entered. A toothy dark elf stood inside with an evil gleam in his eye. Sakov readied himself as the pirate ran in.

The captain's sword glowed red as it flashed in at Sakov. Sakov blocked the attack, but as soon as the two swords connected, Sakov felt a wave of exhaustion fall over him. The captain's sword was magical! Sakov leaped back to avoid being attacked but his sword flew out of his hand. He barely had the strength to get up.

"Like it do you?" The captain sneered. He pulled out a notched knife. "I'm gonna make you bleed, like the maggot you are!"

The captain walked forward and stabbed at Sakov's head with the knife. Sakov used some of his last energy to roll out of the way.

The pirate swore and grabbed Sakov's neck and hoisted him in the air. Sakov then understood. The magical sword took away Sakov's strength, and gave it to the pirate. The pirate held Sakov in place with one hand, while he leveled the knife with the other. He stabbed again, but before the knife hit Sakov, he was filled with sudden strength. Sakov ducked out of the captain's grasp, and as he dropped, Sakov kicked at the captain's stomach, making him double over in pain. Sakov grabbed his fallen sword and stabbed it into the captain. The pirate fell over, and never got up. Sakov felt all his strength flow back into him. Now he could tell Rotilan the ship was ready to be destroyed.

Sakov sprinted out of the room, and leaped into the air, grabbing a rope and using his momentum to catapult him across the sea. For a few seconds, he was soaring through the air like a cliff racer. But he landed in the water a few meters short of the Bladerunner. Sakov swam to the side of the schooner and grabbed one of the ladders. He started to climb the ladder until he was back on the deck, where the battle had almost finished. While most of his men remained, only a few pirates were left.

Sakov ran towards one a slashed his sword twice at the pirate's back. Each blow landed solid. With one last arrow volley, the remaining pirates fell dead and a cheer echoed over the Bladerunner. Sakov ran to Rotilan.

"Set the ship aflame!" Sakov said. "Nothing protects it anymore."

Rotilan growled his agreement and sent a fireball at the ship. The ship went aflame at once, and smoke spiraled into the sky mixing with the mist to form a dark cloud.

Within five minutes, the ship was no more. By then, the crew of the Bladerunner had tossed the bodies off the ship, and was ready to sail again.

**Thanks for reading. Now leave me some reviews to think over. Thanks**


	6. Invasion

Morrowind, Vivec Under works, Morag Tong Headquarters, AD E50

A lean elf in a red robe readied his knife, swinging it over his head with barely a noise. He released it right before it made a strait line to the target. The knife silently sped through the air and embedded itself in the leather target. The elf reached his hand into his pocket and took out 5 knives in one hand, positioning them so each finger held one. He swung his hand down and each knife flew from his hand, and each hit the target so that it made a strait line. He walked forward to retrieve them prying all of them free with a single motion with his hand.

This was the Morag Tong, an extremely skilled guild of assassins. But they killed for honor, and it didn't make them lower in the society if someone knew. The Morag Tong were feared, but also respected.

The dark elf was Twal Gvis. His black hair was fairly long and he didn't hide it with a hood; he kept his hood back, and his skin was a dark blue that glowed in the torchlight. His reddish eyes were almost always narrowed; he looked for potential enemies everywhere. He walked out of the training room, where other assassins were practicing, and walked up the stairs to visit the Grandmaster. The Grandmaster was currently a female elf named Era Hlatu. Twal walked up the stairs and down a fairly long corridor to her room. When he stopped outside he heard her say, "Enter."

Twal opened the door to see Era standing in the center. She wore the customary robe of Morag Tong, along with most of the assassins including Twal. He bowed.

"Ah, Twal." She said. "I have been expecting you."

"Master, I have come to see if there is a writ to be carried out."

A writ was a contract that allowed them to kill the targeted victim. If one carried such a writ, then if they were arrested, they could escape jail by showing the guards the writ.

"Well, yes there is a writ to be carried out." Era admitted. "There is a dark elf running a club in Balmora. But really, he is a slaver. He must be silenced."

She reached into her deep pocket and pulled out a long slender scroll. She handed it to Twal, who pocketed it.

He bowed again and walked from the room. But as he exited the room, another figure pushed him out of the way and went in. It was wearing a black robe, and hood. As Twal turned, he saw about fifteen robed figures standing by the stairs. Twal didn't like this at all.

Era tensed as the figure came into the room. The dark hood upon their head masked their face.

"Who are you?" Era questioned, trying to keep the slight fear out of her voice.

The figure pulled down their hood to reveal a lizard head. It was an argonian.

"Greetings from the Dark Brotherhood." The argonian said.

Twal stiffened and listened closely to the door. At first he heard nothing, but then the sound of angry voices met his ears. Then after about a minute of this, the sound of steel against metal erupted. Twal drew ten daggers out of his pockets, five on each hand, and tried to kick the door open, but it was locked. The other Dark Brotherhood members remained still, but their hands were in their pockets, probably holding weapons. So Twal waited through the clash, but after a few seconds the door burst forward and the cloaked argonian ran out. Twal saw back in the room Era was on the ground with many holes in her robe.

Twal let out a death cry and leaped into the air and kicked out at the argonian's neck with the tip of his boot. The deadly blow brought the argonian to the floor dead. By then, the Dark Brotherhood assassins had equipped themselves with weapons. They ran towards Twal silently. Twal looked to the side, where there was a stone balcony. As soon as the other assassins were within ten feet, he leaped backwards off the balcony and threw his ten daggers at the assassins. Ten assassins fell. Twal landed in a backwards roll, drawing a long slim sword from its sheath.

He turned to see more Dark Brotherhood assassins running into the room. By then all of the Morag Tong knew of the invasion. They ran from their rooms, drawing bows, knives, swords. Twal ran lightly towards a hooded figure and sliced at his legs, and spun around and slashed at his head. He ducked an arrow, and grabbed a knife out of his pocket and threw it at the archer. The knife hit solidly. Twal cast a quick look around. Five Morag Tong members were dead and there were about ten left. It seemed the Dark Brotherhood would not stop coming!

Twal jumped at an archer, who lined Twal up in his sights. The archer released the arrow, but Twal was nowhere to be seen. He looked around, then above him. Twal was pressed against the parting of the wall in the ceiling. As soon as the archer looked up, Twal jumped down and attacked.

The Guild house was in chaos. Bodies lay everywhere, and the Morag Tong had only five assassins remaining. Most of the assassins hadn't been trained to fight in such circumstances, only fights that took one hit.

Upon fear of being overwhelmed, Twal jumped back and ran down a hallway to the training room. Inside he ran to a straw basket that held the training knives. He sheathed his sword and gathered one between each finger. He heard running and knew he was the only one left. As the swarm of assassins ran in, Twal let fly ten knives, each hitting targets. Again Twal grabbed knives, but this time grabbed two between each finger and he threw twenty knives. The turned through the air and hit fifteen assassins; the other knives flew against the wall.

But Twal was running out of knives. He let fly the last twenty and drew his sword and charged in with another cry of death, but this cry he knew, was for him.

He charged in swinging back and forth, over and under. Countless assassins fell to his blade, but after about twenty seconds of this, an arrow hit Twal in the leg. Twal groaned, but held on. Again he attacked with his deadly blade, showing the Dark Brotherhood why he was one of the most feared assassins in all Tamriel. But it could only go one for so long.

Another arrow sped in, hitting his shoulder and pushing him back. Twal yelled in agony, but he would not stop. He yelled a final cry to the god of death and drove in one last time sweeping his sword through the air, and stabbing in frenzy. But with a twang, five arrows hit Twal. And as he fell, he threw his sword, which spun through the air and hit an archer. But Twal was on the ground, and he would never get up.

**So tell me what you think!**


	7. Skyrim

Northern Sea, AD E50 

11:23 p.m.

Sakov hugged a blanket closer to his chest, blocking out the cold air. As of today, they had been sailing for two weeks. Two weeks of hardship. As soon as they had passed the northern end of Morrowind, they had been assaulted with fifty miles per hour winds almost all day, and a bitter cold, that numbed the crews faces. But they sailed on. Sakov had gotten Rotilan to make fires that provided heat, but would not burn the ship.

Sakov lay on his hammock, listening to the sound of the wind and waves. He tried to warm his hands by rubbing them together, but his hands were so numb, he couldn't feel it. He remembered his father telling him how to conjure up fire in one's hand. Reaching into his mind, Sakov brought forth fire, but did not release it, as he would to send a fireball. He kept it in the palm of his hand. Although he was not very skilled with magic, he could still perform a spell like this without tiring. He now conjured fire for both hands. He sat this way for a few minutes before he started to feel a tingling in his hands. The fire was working! Slowly his hands got warmer and warmer, until his hands started to get too hot.

He took away the magic, and the flames died down. Deciding he wasn't going to sleep any time soon, he pulled himself out of the hammock and walked out the door.

Cold air hit him like knives but he pulled his sweater closer to him and walked on. He walked slowly towards the front of the ship, to where Drizzon do Thran stood.

Drizzon nodded to Sakov and Sakov walked next to him.

"How, how long do you think before we arrive?" stuttered Sakov, his teeth chattering.

"I would guess a day or two," Drizzon said. "It depends how hard the winds blow."

Sakov nodded, pleased. They had made good time for a long journey.

"I can take your watch Drizzon, I'm not tired." Sakov said. Drizzon smiled wearily.

"Thanks." He said. He turned and walked away. Sakov was now alone. He looked at the never-ending sea and shivered. It would be a long night.

6:14 a.m.

"Wake up! Wake up dunmer!" Sakov shouted into the different rooms. He heard groaning from within telling him that the other elves had trouble sleeping as well. The dunmer came out, looking half asleep and while some stayed up on the main deck, others climbed down a ladder near the back for breakfast.

Sakov had second duties, meaning he had breakfast early before the others. In an hour the remaining men would eat.

Sakov hopped down the ladder and let out a sigh of relief. It had been a hard, cold night. Down here it was warm because of the chef's preparing food. The room was fairly small, but had many tables squeezed into the small space. At the end of the room was a bar; behind it were the chef's serving the food.

Sakov saw Rotilan the wizard in a chef apron and chuckled. He walked over to where Rotilan was serving some men lumpy porridge with magic, hovering the food over their plates.

Sakov walked over and grabbed a plate and got in line.

"Rotilan!" Sakov called him over. Rotilan came over hovering a pile of porridge.

"Porridge Sakov?" Rotilan asked. Sakov nodded and the pile dropped on his plate.

"So, Rotilan." Sakov said casually. "Hoping to get out of ship duties down here I see."

Sakov chuckled. Rotilan put on a face of being offended.

"I would never!" he said. Sakov walked to the table laughing. He sat down next to an elf that appeared to have fallen asleep in his porridge. Sakov grabbed his head and pulled his head out making the elf groan. Sakov dunked his spoon in the heavy porridge and brought it to his lips. A taste of grated rock met hit mouth. Rotilan sure couldn't cook.

5:15 p.m.

Sakov stood up in the crow's nest looking to the northwest. He had been up here for about an hour, hoping to catch site of Skyrim. He huddled closer and put the spyglass to his eye. He saw nothing but sea. But no, he saw the outline of something huge. He looked closer to see it was a mountain. A snowy mountain. They had arrived. Sakov rang the bell causing all the elves to look up.

"Skyrim in sight!" Sakov shouted. The crew cheered; it had been a hard journey.

"Get on the oars dunmer, there's not much time before darkness!" Sakov yelled. The deck broke out in action. Some elves stayed up above to direct the sails, while the others went below deck to the oars. Sakov climbed down to the head of the boat, where the great mountains of Skyrim were now in view.

As if the wind had picked up, the boat started to move faster and faster. The elves had gotten to the oars.

"You think the Nords will welcome us?" Drizzon had walked up. Sakov shrugged.

"I hope. Because they're here." Five huge boats were moving towards them.

**Thanks for reading! **


	8. Captured

**Thanks to Arisaab for reviewing! **

Morrowind, Vivec, Black Eye Club

Savon sipped his honey flavored drink and sighed. Something had been bothering him since he got back from Balmora. He was worried for Sakov. After he had heard of the journey to Skyrim, he had instinctively wanted to go right there. The Nords were dangerous. They were loud and strong barbarians that didn't mind killing. But Savon couldn't. He wanted to let Sakov do something by himself. But with no word from Sakov he was getting worried, and restless. He had been away from action for far too long.

He took another sip of the honey drink, watching a patron being dragged out of the club. He closed his eyes and listened to the chatter of the crowd. That was when he felt the knife at his throat.

"Don't move." Whispered a snake like voice. "Or I will slit your throat."

Savon remained still for a few seconds, then snapped both his arms back, sending a burst of electricity through them. The attacker flew back ten feet still shaking from the shock. The attacker was a dark elf in commoner clothes, an unlikely assassin. And he wasn't alone. As if from a signal, almost every elf in the bar stood up drawing out weapons and advancing towards Savon. Savon drew out Dal Kav and swung it in a little circle, readying himself.

A dark elf archer shot an arrow at Savon, who sent it flying back with magic. Five elves with swords came in at Savon from around him. At the same time they attacked. Savon flashed his hand out, sending all the swords out of the elves hands. Savon spun around and extended his sword. The five elves staggered back with slices across their stomachs.

He sent a lightning bolt at a group of archers, who flew back. One of the elves shouted something, and reached to his back and pulled out a bow. Following his lead, the other elves too reached to their backs to arm themselves. A second later, they released, sending a hail of arrows strait at Savon. Savon tried to block them with magic, but the arrows seemed to be coated in a liquid that would not let him use magic on them.

He spun and Dal Kav moved with him as if they were one. The arrows snapped and broke from the onslaught, and no arrows reached Savon. That is, except for one. The arrow sped in silently, and hit Savon in the back of his calf. Savon snapped back instinctively.

He raised his sword to attack, but it felt heavy. His gaze started to blur, and he realized the strange liquid on the arrow was a poison. He was on the floor, he realized. Before he passed out, he looked up to see a dark elf looking down at him before he was launched into the waiting darkness.

9:23 p.m.

Savon woke with a start, his eyelids flashing open. He was in a stone cell, chained against the wall. He wore only a pair of tan pants, but all his items were gone. The walls were grimy, as if it had not been cleaned for years. There were no windows, only a solid stone door in the opposite side of the room. Savon struggled and prepared the spell to release himself, but he could not access that part of his mind.

He was drugged he realized. He hung his head down and closed his eyes, waiting for the magic to return.

11:34 p.m.

After waiting for many hours, he felt a small hole in the stockade that blocked his mind. He reached for it, trying to widen the connection, but it seemed it would only open from time.

Savon snapped his head up as he heard a noise outside of his cell. The door moved, and opened. A pale dark elf entered apparently alone. He smiled threateningly at Savon.

"Wh…Why have you brought me here?" Savon choked; his throat was as dry as parchment. The dark elf moved closer and brought his hand up as if to scratch his head, but whipped it out and smacked Savon.

"The little baby mage has gotta learn to hold his tongue." The elf teased cruelly. "Or the Dark Brotherhood will cut it out."

He pulled a knife from his pocket and moved closer. Savon tensed as the words Dark Brotherhood were said. He would have trouble getting out of this one.

"Answer my question and you won't be harmed." The elf said, his mocking tone gone. "What are your battle plans and where can I find them?"

Savon realized that these dark elves must be working for other races, perhaps aiding another province.

"You said you would ask one question." Savon shot back. The elf slapped him hard across the face, but Savon would not wince in front of him.

"Give me the answers, or I take your finger." The elf threatened.

"Go back down your hole." Savon said quietly. The elf's face turned an ugly red, and he drew closer readying the knife.

"Your finger it is."

Savon struggled against the tight chains, but they wouldn't move. The elf grabbed his hand in a strong grip, and swung the knife down.

A crack issued through the room. Savon's magic was back. The elf flew back and was slammed against the wall, shaking wildly. Savon ripped off the chains, using magic to enhance his strength. He ripped the chains out of the wall with a loud crash. The elf was now on his feet. He reached to the side of the wall and pushed a stone.

Savon felt excruciating pain fly up his back as a poisoned arrow was embedded there. Savon fell to the floor, unconscious once more.

**To those who have reviewed, thanks again!**


	9. The First Seige

Cyrodiil, Imperial City, Temple District

Morning

The Chorrol guard ran through the streets at top speed. He dodged civilians making their way to the palace and he went on, searching for the captain of the guard.

A large party of Orcs and Nords had overrun Chorrol a week ago. There had been no warning. Only about half of the town had survived, and it was a wonder that any survived. They fled to the Imperial City to discover that all the other towns had been attacked. They had received no word from Leyawiin though until recently when a lone survivor had come on horseback.

Here in the city, they prepared for the final battle. They had no allies to come help them. They were alone. The walls around the city had been armed with catapults, and archers for the battle. All the doors to the city had been barricaded, and the women and children were now in the Palace district. The able men had to fight. They had been able to raise an army of about 5,000 men, but they didn't have much hope.

The guard, Tarvain, sprinted on, searching. He had tan skin, with a long scar crossing his face. His hair was long and brown, but he wore a guard helmet. At last he saw the white and gold armor marking him as a captain. His name was Matius, and he was well known throughout the city. He turned to regard Tarvain who stood waiting, breathing heavily.

"What is it?" Matius asked. Tarvain stopped his heavy breathing.

"Captain, a single citizen has arrived from Leyawiin on horseback. The city is gone." Tarvain said gravely. Matius winced.

"Tragic, but not unexpected. Thank you for the news." Matius said. Tarvain nodded and started to jog back to the palace. He looked into the sky and saw dark clouds. A storm was approaching.

12:46 p.m.

City wall

The Imperial guardsmen Fitius walked back and forth across the stone surface of the high walls. The wall had rough edges and it rose four feet from the walkway on which he was standing. He was six feet tall, so he was able to see over the high wall easily. He looked out over the lake on which the Imperial City was built. He looked to the abandoned waterfront, where ships were anchored, but they were empty. Fitius shivered slightly and looked out over the water, towards one causeway leading towards the city. The Orcs and Nords would have to run across the causeways to get to the gates, but the causeways were not very wide, and it would slow them down.

Fitius walked back to the wall facing the city and looked at the huge White Gold Tower of the Aylieds. He reached down and grabbed more arrows to put in his quiver when he heard a loud horn. A voice echoed through the city.

"Guards to your stations! The enemy is here!"

Alarm issued around Fitius and he ran to a stone stool and picked up a spyglass. He looked out in the distance and saw nothing. But as he looked close, he saw huge figures walking out of the trees. He looked to another side of the city to see the same thing. The Orcs and Nords had surrounded them. That was when it began to rain. It started as a soft patter against his legion armor, but turned into a hail of rain. Fitius groaned. It would be hard to shoot arrows in this weather.

He looked around him to see most guards climbing to positions on the wall, while some stayed near each gate, with long pikes, ready to repel the forces that were coming. Two Skingrad guards next to him readied a catapult, loading a huge boulder onto it. Fitius looked back with his spyglass to the figures. He jumped back in shock. The forces now spread from the woods to almost halfway to the first causeway. They were coming fast. But they seemed they would not stop coming. The dark figures in the woods kept coming and coming. From what the scouts had told, and what he was seeing, it seemed the Orcs and Nords had a force over thirty thousand strong.

Fitius though of his wife and his young daughter Mariette, and light tears spread to his eyes. But they turned to tears of fury. The Imperials had once trusted these races. Now they were monsters, there was no other word for them.

Fitius took his strong bow off his back and readied an arrow. The men around him were silent. Most like him held bows at the ready, while others manned the mighty catapults.

A low sound met Fitius' ear as he turned back to the huge army that now covered all the land in sight. It was the sound of the Orcs roaring, and the Nords bellowing death cries. Fitius' anger increased. He was ready. He looked into his spyglass again to see his enemy. The Orcs wore heavy black armor with masks that covered their faces except for their eyes and mouths. They carried mostly war hammers, though some were seen with swords and axes. The Nords wore heavy leather armor, with leather helms. They carried steel claymores and war axes that seemed to hardly slow them down.

Fitius put the glass down as the men around him stirred. The huge army had made it to the causeways. And they were still coming out of the woods. They didn't stop at the causeways, they just roared and ran on.

"Men ready bows and catapults!" A captain near Fitius yelled. The guards pulled the strings back, holding the bows steady, and aiming carefully. The men manning the catapults pulled back the wooden block holding the boulder in place. The huge Nords and Orcs were now halfway across the causeways.

"FIRE!" The captain screamed. Around the walls, at the same time, other captains yelled the same order. The twang of bows, and snap of catapults filled the air, and hundreds of arrows and tens of boulders flew down to meet the coming army. Many of the arrows hit, but many missed, because the weather was hard to aim in. The boulders smashed against the enemy and many Orcs and Nords flew off the causeways into the water.

The order was set again to ready bows and catapults. Again a hail of arrows and boulders hit the enemy forces stopping their progress across the causeways, but as the men reloaded, the enemy advanced quickly. They were now almost to the main gate, and the Orcs and Nords moved to the sides. A second later ten Orcs carrying a battering ram ran though the parting in the line.

"FIRE!" The captains yelled. Arrows and boulders again halted their progress. But Orcs and Nords were now flooding into the grassy area surrounding the city. One or two hundred yards separated the causeway from the main gates, and the Orcs and Nords were coming fast.

With the battering ram still heading toward the gate, huge catapults were wheeled out into the yellow grass.

The order was set to fire again, and the catapults aimed for the enemy catapults. The huge boulders soared down and crashed against the orcish catapults, but they were strong and only left small dents.

Now the Orcs and Nords sent a volley of their own back. Orc crossbowmen and Nord archers ran into distance and released along with the catapults. The catapults sent huge masses of steel that rammed into the walls and breaking through some of the top layers. Most of the arrows hit the walls too, but a few hit archers who crumpled.

Another volley was sent by the Imperials, but as each Orc and Nord died, another replaced them. Fitius growled; they would not fall back.

The battering ram reached the gate, and the Orcs slammed it hard against it, rattling the chained door.

Another volley was sent by the Orcs and Nords and the effects were even more devastating than before. The huge steel boulders broke off many parts of the walls, and took many men with them. Arrows hit more men than the time before, and Fitius had to duck to avoid a crossbow bolt.

A captain near Fitius cursed and took a horn from his belt and brought it to his lips. The unwavering sound reached all the way across the city, and it meant for the archers to get down from the walls to help the soldiers below.

Fitius ran to a trap door and climbed down the ladder. He climbed down into a dimly lit hallway where other trap doors led to as well. As Fitius landed, he heard a loud crash as another boulder broke off the whole wall he had been standing on moments before.

He strapped his bow to his back as he ran, and pulled out his steel long sword. He followed the other soldiers and came out into the open. He was in the Temple district, and soldiers crowded almost the whole area.

Fitius jostled through the crowd to get near the front line. He watched as the door shook heavily as the battering ram hit it. A loud groan issued from the door, and he knew that it would be destroyed in a matter of minutes.

"Brace the gate!" he heard Captain Matius yell. A large group of men including Fitius charged towards the gate and pressed themselves against it.

Fitius flew backwards as the ram connected. He landed on his back along with most of the men. Fitius got up again and ran at the door and pressed himself firmly against it. A few seconds later, the battering ram connected, sending Fitius flying backward again. But this time as the ram connected, it snapped most of the boards strengthening the gate. Fitius and the other men drew back into the line, readying their weapons. The Imperials in the front line held sharpened pikes, and they kneeled down extending them forward. Behind them was anther row of pike men, and after that was a row of archers. Fitius was in the fourth row, a row of swordsmen.

Fitius waited concentrating on the gate. A second later with a heavy crash, the gate crashed open. A crowd of Orcs and Nords charged in roaring. The Imperials returned the roar and readied themselves. The two groups met with the sound of steel and metal. Pikes were driven into skulls, swords were slashed across armor, war hammers crushed bones, and arrows embedded themselves into chests.

Fitius ran into the fray and slashed at a huge hammer wielding Orc. The attack was solid, but the Orc didn't falter, and swung his hammer at Fitius. Fitius ducked and rolled closer to the Orc and chopped his leg off. The Orc fell, and Fitius stabbed his blade down.

The fighting continued for an hour, until the Imperials started to slowly retreat. Fitius blocked a Nord's attack, and returned one of his own. The Nord roared and fell. Fitius stabbed out and ducked as an arrow flew by overhead. He got up and started to back away as a huge Orc ran in swinging his hammer.

The Orc hit another Imperial who crumpled, and swung the war hammer around his head and slammed it against Fitius' upraised sword. The hammer broke it in half, and the pieces flew back. Fitius ran to the right and rolled as the Orc attacked again.

Fitius picked up a fallen spear, and faced the Orc and jabbed out. The Orc accepted the blow and ran closer. A Skingrad swordsman tried to hit the Orc, but the Orc hit him with a punch, and he fell to the ground.

Fitius swung his pike sideways cracking the Orc across the head. He blocked an attack from another Orc and stabbed at the hammer wielding Orc. The spear sank deep into his leg, and the Orc roared.

"Fitius, down!" screamed a soldier. Fitius ducked and five arrows soared over his head and hit the Orc in the head. The Orc fell and never got to his feet again.

Fitius looked around and saw they had defeated the first wave of enemies. But they had lost more than half of their army. Fitius grabbed a fellow soldiers hand and pulled himself up.

He looked out at the gate and heard the sound of roaring, and knew the next wave was coming. He looked to Captain Matius who was behind him and saw him grimacing.

"Retreat," Matius said softly. "Retreat!" he yelled. The men turned away from the gate and started to back away from the gate, but then they started to run. They sprinted through the once bustling streets, and towards the palace. As they ran, they heard horns echoing from the other districts, as they too were commanded to retreat.

Fitius broke from a run into a sprint, and ran through the open palace gates. He looked around and saw that the other districts had lost many men as well. As soon as the last soldier ran through, the sturdy gates of the palace were shut.

Fitius could hear the roaring more clearly now. There wasn't much time left.


	10. Escape

Morrowind, Vivec Under works, Dark Brotherhood Head Quarters

Savon was chained to the rough floor and tried once more to open his eyes. A heavy crust had gathered upon his eyelids, gluing them shut. They had been stabbing him every few hours with a blade with potent poison on it that shut his magical connection and caused immense pain. His right arm had lost so much blood from being stabbed, he could barely feel it.

He heard the door open again, as an assassin entered with a dagger coated with the poison. He stabbed it into Savon's right arm, and again Savon felt himself drift off into oblivion.

Three hours later

Savon was awake again but he could not open his eyes. He knew if this went on for much longer, he would surely die. And then once more the door scraped open, and instead of feeling pain fly up his arm as it usually did, he felt his eyes being pried open. He could see! But then unbearable pain stung his eyes, as the assassin shocked them.

Savon yelled, but he could now see. His visage was blurred but it began to clear. A dark robed figure stood in front of him, a black helm upon his head. From the crest upon his robe and helm showing the dark brotherhood sign, Savon guessed this was the leader of this group of assassins.

Savon glared at him, and the leader kneeled to the floor and grabbed his throat and applied pressure.

"I give you once more to tell us of your battle plans." The leader said with impatience. "Or we will kill you."

"Kill me then." Savon answered. The leader let go of Savon's neck and a smile touched his lips.

"It will be painful I assure."

Savon glared back. The leader walked out, and the door was shut. Savon waited, wondering what was in store for him. It happened immediately.

The walls around him started to groan. Savon looked around and saw small spikes extend out of the walls. And then they started to move. They moved inwards toward Savon, but slowly.

Savon cursed and struggled with the tight chains holding him. None of them moved. He curved his back and applied even more pressure. Still they would not budge. He strained his arms and was able to grab hold of the chains on the opposite arms. He applied all his strength and at last, he felt the chain holding his left arm move slightly. He pulled even harder and he felt it pull free. Savon now grabbed the right chain with his left arm and pulled to the extent of his limits. Again he felt it loosen.

With another hard tug, the right chain broke free. He now went to work on the chain holding his chest. He squeezed his hand under the metal and pushed upwards. The chain broke free with a crash.

Savon looked around quickly. The room was now twice as small. With more urgency he sat up and began to pull on the chain holding his right leg. He felt it loosen, and was able to slip his leg out of it. He did the same with his left leg, and he was now free.

But what could he do? Savon looked around for something that could help him,

But the only things in the room were the chains. He grabbed a long one, and started swinging it against one wall, trying to break through. But the chain only bounced off. He felt his consciousness breach, and he knew soon he would be able to use magic.

But the walls now almost touched him, and the magic would not return in time.

He winced as a spike pierced his skin, drawing blood. He pushed his feet against the spiky wall, and moved his hands to the opposite wall, avoiding the spikes. The walls pushed against him, but he held strong. His muscles bunched up and pushed, but the walls kept going.

Savon screamed as he felt his shoulder dislocate, and both his legs break. The hole in his mind had widened but now the spikes were digging into him, making holes in his skin.

Savon yelled in agony, and he dug into his mind. He grappled through the hole and brought forth the magic.

He brought his hand out and used magic to push the walls back. They flew backwards with a crash, and all was silent.

Savon lay on the ground, his body bent and deformed. And with the last of his strength, he healed the holes in his body, and connected the bones again. He lay there for a few minutes, letting the pain fade away. He got to his feet, feeling very stiff. But he had survived. He brought his arms in a slow circle, testing their strength. They too were stiff, but it did not cause pain.

Savon turned to the locked door and brought forth a spell to unlock it. With a click, the door swung open.

He was in a bare hallway made of sandstone, lit by torches. There were no sentries guarding it, so he crept to the left. He passed a few doors that appeared to be cells, but they were empty. When he got to the end of the passageway, he rounded the corner and continued. His bare feet made almost no sound as they touched the hard floor.

He pressed himself flat against the wall and he shrunk back around the corner as he heard voices.

"I will go check to see if he is dead yet." He managed to hear. Footsteps came closer to him, and as soon as they rounded the corner, Savon swung his hand out and hit the assassin. Savon had not seen this assassin before. He wore the black robes of the Dark Brotherhood, but his face was an odd blue color. Savon slammed him into the wall, denting it slightly.

"Where is my equipment?" He asked forcefully.

"I, I don't know." The assassin said with a slight stutter. Savon raised his hand up and conjured a flame into his hand. He brought it close to the assassin and held it threateningly.

"Alright, alright!" the assassin said as Savon drew his hand closer. "Go up the hall and go in the first door."

Savon nodded and knocked him out, hitting him in the temple. He continued up the hallway, staying close to the wall. He entered the first door and came across a dark room filled with chests. He looked through them, finding mostly weapons, until he came across his traditional Da' Raethe cuirass, and his black leather shoulder pieces, greaves, and boots. He put them on quickly and found under that his magnificent sword Dal Kav, and his enchanted items. He attached Dal Kav to his belt, and put on his enchanted items, a ring that enhanced his speed and strength, and an amulet that enhanced his magical abilities.

He drew Dal Kav and walked out of the room. He continued to sneak along the walls and he rounded another corner and came across two assassins patrolling the corridors. Before the assassins could move, Savon kicked with his foot, making one double over, and hit the other with Dal Kav's handle. The assassin fell to the ground knocked unconscious. He punched the other in the head, knocking the other down. Savon continued on, passing many rooms, until he came to a wooden ladder leading upwards. After a glance behind him, he began to climb the ladder, going up about twenty feet before he came to a trap door.

He pushed upwards, and it swung open. He hooked his hands over the edge and pulled himself up, and rolled in. He was in a large stone room like a temple, filled with stone altars. Many assassins sat in front of them, not noticing Savon. Savon tentatively walked through, careful not to make noise. They seemed to be in some sort of a trance, for their eyes were rolled back, and they did not move. Savon debated killing them, but something inside him wouldn't let him kill a defenseless foe. And if he did, it might wake the others. All two hundred of them.

Savon continued on, still careful not to make much noise. He walked to the end of the room to where a large stone door sat. He pushed on it, and it opened. The smell of the sewers greeted him. He walked through and discovered he was in the under works.

He continued walking though the dark tunnel, careful not to fall in the sewer water. He tried to mark landmarks so if he had to come back, he would know how. He kept walking for what seemed like hours, and he knew he must be going in circles. He stopped as he heard something in the distance. Two pairs of footsteps were approaching, and he quickly slid into the water, but kept his head above to hear what they were saying.

"Did you get the plans out of him?" One said.

"No master, he would not tell. We had him killed today."

"Fool, I could have broken him."

They were now level with Savon, and they stopped and faced each other.

"You continue to disappoint me Cistrain, if we are really going to rule this land, then we need those plans."

"Master I have tried…"

"And you have failed, you are no longer of use to me."

The master struck his hand out, hitting Cistrain's throat. The Master picked Cistrain up and threw him into the water to where Savon lay. Savon went under quickly, and tried to quietly, but the Master heard him. The Master waited several seconds, before dismissing it as a crab. He turned, his cloak flying back, and walked the other way.

Savon came up from the water and took a deep breath. He checked to see if Cistrain was alive, but there was no pulse. Savon pulled himself out of the sewer water and ran the opposite way of the Master to go report to the council. If he could find a way out.

**Finished? Please leave a review if you have read it! So, next chapter will probably be up in a week more or less.**


	11. The Ice Tower

**Hooray! The next chapter is finished! Anyway, this chapter is pretty long. Hope you like it.**

Skyrim, Eastern Sea

The ships were approaching fast, their huge sails and oars propelling them at an amazing speed. They were obviously made by Nords because of the huge size, and the way the wood carved into the bow.

Sakov ran to the trapdoor leading to the breakfast hall and stuck his head down.

"Get up here!" He shouted. "The Nords are approaching!"

The hall erupted in action and most elves simply left their food and ran towards Sakov. Sakov withdrew his head and looked back out to the Nord ships. They were now so close that he could see the huge figures of the barbarian Nords on the ships. The ships were now parting and circling the dark elf ship, surrounding it.

Sakov watched as huge ballistae's were stuck out of the sides of the huge ships, pointing them at the Bladerunner. Sakov raised his arms in surprise and walked out to near the ships and yelled,

"We come in peace!"

The ships came closer and lowered huge planks onto Sakov's ship, and the huge Nords came across them armed with huge weapons. They surrounded the dark elves, many which were just coming up the ladder to the deck.

One Nord stood out the most though. He was the biggest one of all, nearing seven and a half feet, making Sakov who was only six feet look tiny. This Nord wore heavy fur armor along with the other barbarians, but his was embroidered with complex designs. In his hands was a huge double-edged axe, almost as long as Sakov himself.

"Who are ye?" yelled the huge Nord. Sakov took a deep breath.

"I am Sakov, son of Savon. As I said, we come in peace, only to ask for help."

The Nord eyed him suspiciously.

"Help? What help?" he shouted. Sakov winced as he yelled.

"We dunmer have stood alone in this long war. We are looking for allies." Sakov said calmly. "And what is your name, good Nord?"

"I am Tor Iron Fist, commander of the Nords of Skyrim." He said loudly. "Your request for allies I can not grant. We would have to see the great king for that decision."

Sakov bowed and said,

"That would be greatly appreciated."

The Nord snorted and turned to his comrades.

"Get em' on yer ships boys and make it fast!" Tor roared. The Nords advanced and grabbed dark elves pulling them along.

As a Nord advanced on Rotilan, he batted the huge hands away.

"I can walk by myself thank you."

The huge barbarian roared and sent a powerful backhand slap at Rotilan, which sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Follow orders you dunmer!" The Nord roared.

From across the ship from where he was being grabbed, Sakov saw Rotilan tense, even saw his hand disappear in his cloak to prepare a spell. But he stopped when he saw the warning look Sakov gave him. He let the Nord grab him, but Sakov heard him muttering angrily as he was marched away.

Sakov was shoved across the plank into another Nord's hands. The Nord pushed him down to the heavy wooden planks. Sakov held back an angry retort of their bad treatment. He had a feeling they were being brought to the king for another reason than for them to tell him of their troubles.

As soon as the last elf was shoved on the boats, the boats took off again heading for the huge mountains in the distance.

An hour later

Although it seemed they were close to the huge mountains, they were in fact many miles away. As they finally made it to the mountains, Sakov stared in wonder. The mountains were enormous! Many of them were many miles high. The five boats pulled into a huge port where hundreds of ships floated. The port was on a small town with buildings made of huge logs. All of the land was covered in snow and the trees were all evergreens.

Sakov felt so alive in Skyrim! The air was scented with so many smells. His keen senses could smell pine trees, animals, smoke, snow, and even the wind in the distance. He was guided off the ship and a gust of wind blew his black hair back. He and the other dunmer were brought to the docks and ordered to wait, and armed Nords walked among them.

Sakov watched Tor walk off the dock and walk into a huge log building. About twenty minutes later he exited and walked back over to Sakov.

"You and yer dunmer gonna follow me now!" He roared over a loud gust of wind. "We got a long walk ahead of us!"

Sakov turned to the other elves and walked through them, relaying Tor's orders. When he finished, he nodded to Tor, who started to walk back towards the town. Sakov followed, balancing his weight so the wind would not blow him off. He wrapped his cloak around him and started to jog to keep up with Tor's long strides.

They walked through the town, and many Nord children and other Nords peered out their windows to see the strange sight of dunmer in their town.

"Ma' look here!" A young boy said to his mother, who was in the other room cooking a boar for dinner.

"All righ' Kail, but ye' better not by pullin me leg!" The Mother shouted back. She halted skinning the boar, and walked back towards her son, who was peering through the frosty window. She looked out and saw nothing but Tor walking up the snowy road.

"What are ye lookin at?" She asked. "There ain't noth-,"

But then she saw the dark elf following in his wake. He wore faded red armor, but he hugged a cloak close to him. Although his skin was more brown than blue, she could tell it was a dunmer. She gasped as she saw more following the leader. They too wore the same armor but also wore sweaters and cloaks to block the wind.

"Gor the mighty save me soul." She said in awe, referring to a powerful deceased warrior that had become a god to the Nords. "What are dunmer doin' in our lands?"

The son Kail looked up.

"Are they gonna do what they did to the dark elves before?"

The mother matched his gaze looking concerned.

"I hope not Kail. But don't let it bother ye, it's not our problem." She said. "Go and wash up, I'll be right there."

Kail obeyed and walked away. But the mother stayed, wondering what horrid fate would befall the elves.

A day later

Sakov woke for what seemed the hundredth time that night because of the extreme chill. But at last it was daytime, and Sakov decided to get up. Careful not to wake up the other elves in the tent, he crept out. He brought up a hand to block the sun, and walked among the circle of tents. Tor stood near the side of a cliff a few hundred yards away. Sakov started that way, stretching his legs. Tor turned, towering over him.

"Eh?" Tor asked. Sakov held up his hands to show he had no weapon and walked next to him.

"So, Tor…" Sakov said slowly. "Where about are we heading?"

Tor grabbed Sakov and shook him and threw him to the ground. Instinctively Sakov reached a hand to his leg where a dagger was hidden. But he relaxed, not wanting to anger the violent man.

"What do you mean, 'where are we headin'!" He roared. "Where do ye think, ye dirt worm?"

Sakov stood up and backed away a few steps to be safe.

"Well, we've been hiking for a day, fine nord, and yet you have not mentioned our destination." Sakov said, a little annoyed. Tor roared and screamed and drew his huge axe.

"Someone's cranky." Sakov said under his breath. Tor charged in swiping the hundred pound axe at Sakov's head. Sakov ducked backwards and slammed his foot against the Nord's exposed gut. His foot met a wall of muscle and fur armor, but he managed to hit the Nord back a few feet. Tor reached down and pulled out a throwing axe and threw it at Sakov, who drew his sword and deflected it.

Tor charged in again and slammed his axe down to Sakov's sword, and Sakov met it. The huge amount of power nearly overcame his strength, but Sakov held it and threw the axe off, bringing Tor back a few paces. Tor roared and readied his huge battleaxe to throw, when they heard a voice.

"Nord, lower the axe!" It was Drizzon. He held his powerful bow in his hand with an arrow pressed to the string.

Tor growled and lowered it to the ground. Sakov sheathed his sword and called to Tor.

"I didn't mean to offend you. Know that."

Tor growled again, and Sakov walked to join Drizzon.

"Thanks for that." Sakov said once he reached him.

"You were already doing well from what I saw." Drizzon said, smiling slightly. Sakov sighed.

"I'm not sure it was a good idea to come here." Sakov said wearily. Drizzon nodded.

"And if the king is as crazy as I've heard, he'll probably make Tor look like a fairy." Sakov added. He turned to the huge barbarian who was planting his axe on his back with unneeded venom. Drizzon chuckled and returned his bow to his back.

"I better just leave you here." Drizzon said sarcastically. "It looks like Tor forgets grudges really easily."

For Tor kept shooting Sakov glances of pure rage. Sakov laughed uneasily and followed Drizzon to where most of the other elves were situated.

One hour later

They were back on the road and it seemed Tor was still in a rage as great as an hour before. He set the pace so the elves had to almost sprint to keep up, and many were still grumbling about being woken up.

Sakov ran a few meters behind Tor who didn't have to run, but took huge fast strides. Sakov looked to the side to see a hawk soar over them, screeching loudly. He looked out over the ridge on which they were walking to see huge evergreen forests leading up to enormous snowy peaks. He saw several bucks and deer walking through the forest and nibbling pine needles.

Sakov stopped as up ahead, Tor stopped. They had made it to the peak of the small mountain. Tor continued on now turning right and started to descend the steep rocky side. When Sakov made it to the peak, he nearly gasped.

He was looking out over more mountains that surrounded an icy plain. In the middle there was a huge tower made of ice. Rock walls and small rock buildings surrounded it. Sakov looked out to the top of the tower, which spiraled into a few large spikes. Sakov looked down and saw Tor was now a few hundred meters down. Sakov tore his gaze from the tower and started to follow. The rocks were slick and made it hard to grip the rock. He leaped down to a rocky ledge and sighed looking again at the tower. Something about it wasn't right. But he looked down again and looked for a way to where Tor was walking. That was when the rock started to crack.

It was a deadly warning and Sakov took immediate action and looked around for a foothold or handhold. The rock cracked again and it leaned back. Sakov leaped upwards as it cracked a final time and tumbled downwards hundreds of feet. Sakov swung his arm and grabbed a protruding rock and curved his hands over the rough surface. He kicked his feet and felt nothing but air. He looked around wildly until his eyes fell on Tor. He was smiling. Sakov felt anger bubbling inside of him, but he pushed it down, in need of an escape. The other elves behind him yelled down to him, but none could reach him. He saw another handhold and reached one hand upwards for it and gripped it. A second later his hand slipped off from the smooth rock. His hand swung down, and he was only holding with one hand.

He caught a flash of him falling and lying sprawled on the rocks below, and swung his hand up again reaching for the other handhold. This time his grip proved firm, and he was able to get his other hand to the rock as well. He looked up again and saw Drizzon holding a rope with Rotilan behind. Drizzon swung it down and descended it towards Sakov's head. Sakov swung his right hand towards it and grabbed on. With a deep breath, he swung the other on it too. He pulled both arms and started to climb the rope using strength that rivaled Tor's. Drizzon and the others pulled too and Rotilan used magic to keep a firm hold on it, and soon Sakov rolled over to the trail, taking deep breaths to slow his heartbeat.

"It's alright Sakov." Rotilan said patting his shoulder. Sakov managed a weak smile but then it was gone.

"It was Tor." Sakov said. "He smiled when I was dangling up there. We got to watch out."

Drizzon nodded and clasped Sakov's hand and pulled him to his feet.

"So…" Sakov said. "Who wants to lead?"

No one offered but then Rotilan threw his hands in the air.

"Bah!" He snorted and started to descend. Sakov followed, careful to look out for rocks Tor might have loosened.

Two hours later

Noon

Sakov walked side by side with Drizzon with Tor far ahead. They were now nearing the Ice Tower, and by their estimating, they would be there by the evening. The sun was high in the sky, but did little to warm the cold air. They were now in the valley, but they still had more miles ahead.

Sakov watched two birds diving in the sky and chasing each other. The wind kicked up and the birds glided on an updraft and soared higher. Sakov watched them until his eyes could not make out their small shapes. He turned his gaze downwards and trudged on.

5:34

Sakov was hunched over snow blowing in his face. A storm had come, and it was slowing their progress. They could no longer see the tower any more, but they continued on through the assault.

The snow was already piled high and it was hard to move his legs. Sakov heard a strange sound in the distance and raised his head. The sound was clearer. It was the sound of a wagon coming. Sakov brightened and spread the news to the other elves that looked up hopefully. Many carts entered their view pulled by strong furry horses. A rather heavy Nord opened a door and yelled to them.

"Come on! Get in!"

Sakov, who more than happy to oblige, followed his kin to the carts. He stepped into one and felt warmth hit his numb body. The carts were wooden and simple, but they had a small fire located in the back. Sakov sat on a wooden bench and felt himself start to shake as the wagon turned and headed back the other way. He put back his head and dozed off.

**Did you like it? I hope so. If you want, leave me review.**


	12. The Road to Cyrodiil

**Hello to readers. ****Sit back, relax, and read.**

**-And thanks to those who have reviewed because you rock.**

The sight of Savon staggering out of a city sewer, covered in deadly wounds after being gone many weeks was unsettling for the dunmer. Many citizens had seen him helped along by Ordinators, heading to the healing chambers. They had believed Savon dead after the Ordinators had not found him in their search. But now he was back.

Savon stood on a high balcony overlooking the water. His wounds had at last healed, and his old strength was coming back. He was in the healing chambers. The healers had insisted keeping him here for a week before he was allowed to go. Today was the last day, and Savon was impatient to leave. He had told the high councilor of the Dark Brotherhood, who had come to visit, but he had not heard what had happened.

He took a step back from the balcony and turned to his bed, where his armor lay, as well as Dal Kav. He walked over to his sword and just looked at it. He still marveled the craftsmanship of the weapon. The two bladed sides were sharper than any swords he had ever laid eyes upon. The blade was almost pure black, and shone like marble.

He took a step back as a knock was issued upon his door.

"Enter." He said.

A young dunmer messenger came in, seeming nervous to be in the company of Savon, who was a legend to most.

"Sir, Sir Savon, the council has demanded you, your presence." The young dunmer stuttered. "They said to be quick as you can."

Savon thanked him and the messenger walked from the room. He slipped his armor on and sheathed Dal Kav, and with one last look at his room, he departed.

It felt good to be back in the street again. Savon ran through them, enjoying the smell of the air, and sea. He sprinted as fast as he could, spreading his legs out far, and enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed feeling out of breath even. He enjoyed everything away from the assassins.

He slowed his pace to a run, and looked up at the tall council building in front of him. He ran up through a carved tunnel building speed. He turned and continued up until he stood in front of the carved stone door. He pulled it open, and walked in.

The whole council sat in front of him, all eyes shifted to him as he entered. Savon could tell something was wrong. He sat in his seat, and looked up at the high councilor.

The councilor stood and began to speak,

"Cyrodiil has been attacked, all of their towns are gone, burned to the ground by Orcs," The high councilor said gravelly. "And Nords. Our scouts report it has led to a final battle upon the Imperial City itself. The Nords and Orcs have broken through, and now the rest of the Imperials are in the palace itself."

The high councilor crossed his hands and sighed.

"We are sending our army to aid them. If we can get allies, we may survive."

Savon furrowed his brow, thinking hard until he thought of something.

"What about the Dark Brotherhood?" Savon questioned. "When they learn that our armies are gone, they will strike, and hard."

The high councilor sighed again.

"I sent a large group of elves to go and destroy them, but the elves found an empty building." The high councilor said slowly. "But I am leaving many elves to protect us in case they do attack."

Savon nodded.

"As for you, you have been put on board one of the ships leaving for Cyrodiil. Do you feel strong enough to go?"

Savon nodded again, with more assurance.

"I will be there."

5 hours later

Savon sat on a stone bench near the boat landing. They were leaving today. Their army was twenty thousand strong, and it would take one thousand ships to carry them. He now was donned in the armor that represented Morrowind, a gray red that had an emblem showing the moon and star, but he wore the same black leather shoulder pieces, greaves and boots. On his side, as it almost always was, was Dal Kav in its sheath.

Savon watched the elves walk the planks onto the ships which were specifically meant for carrying loads.

Savon stood as he heard his named called from a ship down the pier. He walked down a wooden walkway to get onboard. His ship was no different than the others, just wooden and sturdy. A severe looking elf walked up to Savon and looked him up and down, as if sizing him up.

"M' name's Grodak. Nice to meet ya' Savon. Heard much bout' you." The elf said shaking his hand. "We're hopin' for some nice easy waves over to them Imperials. Heard they're in some sort a trouble."

Savon nodded distracted as he watched a female elf in the distance walking towards the boat. As she got close, Savon realized it was Dalvane. She wore a rough looking garment that Savon determined as leather. On her side was a slim sword that Savon had been teaching her to wield. She walked up to the boat and smiled seeing Savon there. Savon raised his eyebrows questioningly. She walked to him and hugged him close.

"Didn't think I'd let you go out again by yourself, did you?" She said softly.

"It's dangerous Dalvane, it's a war we're talking about." He returned.

"Oh really?" she said sarcastically. She walked past him and went to go and find a spot to put her items. Savon smiled slightly and followed her, hoisting a pack of food over his shoulder.

Night

Savon shook himself, trying to go to sleep. He kept worrying about Sakov. He was imagining Sakov at the end of an axe, bloody and deformed in a prison cell. He sighed. There was nothing he could do right now. He pulled away his starch covers and got up. He pulled a sweater and warm pants over his gray shirt and light pants, and proceeded upwards to the top of the ship.

The wind hit him like a wave. A light rain was cascading down on the ships, and Savon turned and made his way to the top of the ship where the wheel was located. Grodak was at the wheel keeping watch on it and holding it steady. Savon turned around and saw an amazing sight. Behind them was a wave of ships, hundreds and hundreds were on every side. They were all silent and the only sound was the wind when it howled. He walked to Grodak who now was eyeing Savon.

"You're up late." Grodak said. "I figgered ye'd be sleepin' by now."

Savon shrugged.

"Nervous?" Grodak asked.

"For the war? No, I've been in a lot already." Savon honestly answered. "You?"

"Nah." Grodak said. "I'm just a, uh…I'm just a somethin'. I got nothin to really live for. Not like you. You got a good family, honor, and a powerful self-being. Lot to live for eh?"

Savon looked sadly into the waves.

"Just because I have those things, it doesn't mean that should I die, it would be anymore painful than yours. Just because you don't have all those things, it doesn't mean you don't have things I don't." Savon said slowly. "You have a different life, and maybe you haven't found everything that is meant for you. Remember that. So if you should find a blade at your chest, do not let your life go. Take the pain and turn it into anger, change its meaning. Let the anger guide your own blade to their chest, and stab back."

Grodak looked out over the waves as if searching for the answers to life's mysteries. Finally he turned back.

"Nice speech there. I'll remember to take yer advice." Grodak said. He sighed. "You go get yerself back in bed. We'll be fightin' tomorrow."

Savon clasped his shoulder in a friendly gesture and walked back to his bed, finding answers of his own from their conversation.

Morning

Savon stood on the deck, looking out over the ships. They too were at work. Men were loosening the sails, cleaning the deck, and making meals. The salty air played with Savon's graying hair, cascading it back. In the distance he could see land, Cyrodiil. Dalvane walked up with breakfast she got for them, raw bread with water. Savon thanked her and took a bite of the bread. It was so frozen he might have been trying to eat rock. He grabbed Dalvane's and his and melted them with magic, so they were now more like regular bread. Dalvane smiled and leaned against the rail.

"Do you wonder how Sakov is?" Dalvane asked. Savon nodded.

"It's been troubling me." He said. "If we don't hear word from him soon, I may go to Skyrim myself."

"With me." Dalvane added. Savon turned to her.

"What is with you?" Savon asked with a small smile playing on his lips. "Why are you trying to get so involved?"

"The way I see it is that soon we're going to have enemies at our doorstep." Dalvane said after a few seconds. "Better to help now before we have no hope."

Savon nodded, agreeing.

"So…" Dalvane said, raising her grimy glass of water. "Here's to war."

"Here's to war." Savon echoed and they clinked their glasses. They looked out over the ocean and enjoyed a moment of peace. Soon, there wouldn't be many of these. He sighed and listened to the light sound of the waves moving slowly. He turned as he heard fast footsteps running past. Dark elves ran amongst the other elves carrying big bundles and handing smaller ones out. After a moment Savon realized these were weapons, and his heart rate sped up. He looked to Dalvane whose eyes were also fixed upon the bundles.

"We're almost there." She said softly. Savon nodded, unclenching his hand upon Dal Kav's hilt. A loud horn echoed from a boat far in front.

"Are you ready?" Savon asked quietly. "After we touch shore, we run until we reach the battle. There will be no going back."

Dalvane turned to him.

"I'm ready. And I know there is no going back."

Savon looked ahead and saw boats touching down on the rocky shore. Their ship hit the side and creaked. Grodak ran to a wooden plank and untied it, and it slammed downwards against the shore.

"Go elves!" He yelled. All the elves jumped ran to the plank and charged downwards and kept running. The run would be a few miles, but the elves would still be able to fight high standard after the running. Savon and Dalvane charged after and once they hit the ground sprinted on. They and the other thousands of elves ran together, seeing the top of white-gold tower in the distance. An elf soldier pulled out a long horn and blew twice into it. A loud wailing sound was issued, a signal to the Imperials they were here.

They sprinted for many minutes, and entered a thick forest, but they did not slow. In the distance, Savon heard the sound of catapults being released and great roars. Savon pulled out Dal Kav and pointed it forwards, a warning to the unseen enemies. Savon was coming.

Imperial Palace

Fitius braced the heavy iron doors for what seemed the thousandth time, and felt the heavy crash and the feeling of being flown backwards. He got to his feet wearily and pressed himself against the door again.

They had lasted in the Palace district for twelve hours, which was amazing considering their position. They had eventually been driven back when the gates were breached, and they lost many. They were now crowded in the palace, with the women and children in the tunnels below. The walls of the palace seemed to be sinking in on him, for they had been there many hours.

Fitius felt a battering ram connect with the doors, and he flew back again, dazed. Another soldier ran forwards taking his spot. Fitius looked around him. Soon, it would be gone. They had only mere hundreds of soldiers left, and the Nords and Orcs had at least 25,000 left. Fitius slammed his fist on the ground. He looked up as he heard excited voices upward that were making their way downward. A side door opened and two soldiers ran out.

"We have heard the horn of Vvardenfell!" One shouted. "Morrowind has come to our aid!"

The room was silent for a moment, before it erupted in cheering. Fitius felt unknown strength return to him and he raised his arm into the air and cheered. They had a chance.

Imperial Planes

The dark elf army had made it to the plain. The site was amazing. The whole plain was covered in Nords and Orcs. There were tens of thousands, and many were pouring into the city. They were packed across the causeways and into the grassy slopes beyond. As they entered to the battlefield, a horn echoed across from the White Gold tower. Some Imperials were still alive.

Savon walked up to a grizzled elf named Stal, one of the renowned commanders of Morrowind's army. He looked upon the opposing forces with one eye; his other had been torn out and was covered with a patch.

"Ah, Savon." he growled. "Good, good. We're gonna need you. To defeat this huge force, we're going to have to breach their line, and we're gonna need some force to do that."

"I'll lead the charge." Savon offered, staring out upon the plains. "Once we're inside their lines, we're going to need some help though."

"And you'll get it." Stal said. "I'll have some of my elites follow ya. Don't worry."

Savon nodded.

"When do you want me to attack?" he asked.

"Soon, very soon. As soon as possible." Stal said. "Surprise is an important factor even if some know we're here."

Savon saluted and ran off in the opposite direction, gathering elves he deemed powerful enough for the charge. He found a hundred good elves and was readying them when Dalvane ran up.

"Are you going?" She asked. Savon nodded.

"And you are not going to follow yet." Savon instructed. "This may be the toughest part of the battle, and you'll have your share of Orcs by the end of this."

Before she could protest, Savon yelled to his troops and patted her on the back.

"See you soon." He said softly. He turned back towards the plain and pointed Dal Kav out.

"For Morrowind my friends!" Savon yelled out to the elves. "And to the Imperials! Charge!"

With a roar, he and the elves sprinted towards the back of the Orcs and Nord lines, which had just turned to see the new force. They held their weapons at the ready and crouched down. Savon let fly a fireball, and a large group was tossed into the air. Before the two forces met, Savon sent out a huge gust of wind, blowing the other forces out of their crouches. Savon charged in, swinging left and right and dodging blows. Dal Kav wove in and out, striking and parrying but never getting behind. Whenever there was an opportunity, he sent a spell into their ranks, scattering them.

The other elves worked with the strength and agility of the dunmer, twisting and turning from blows, and kicking out. They continued forwards.

Savon parried five blows and jumped into the air, swinging Dal Kav in one direction, and his foot in the other. Dal Kav beheaded an Orc, and his foot slammed a Nord in the head knocking him out. Savon ducked as three more blows came his way, and he rotated on his back, extending his leg, tripping two of the attackers. A lightning bolt took care of the one standing, and Dal Kav dealt with the others. He looked around and saw he had been separated from the main group, and many Orc's and Nord's were surrounding him. Drawing into a deep sense of mind, he drew out the core of magic, but kept it in his hand. He used one of the hardest spells to master, summoning.

A red glow appeared in front of him, and a dark shape started to form, getting larger and larger. The red glow stopped, and revealed a dragon like creature. Its snout was long, but it stood upon two legs. It snarled, and jumped at and Orc, tearing at its chest. Savon jumped the other way, sending fire plummeting down upon five unlucky Orc's. Before he landed, he swung Dal Kav downwards toward a Nord who raised his battle-axe to block. Dal Kav tore cleanly through the axe and the blade swung into the Nord's skull.

Savon backed away towards his dragon-like minion, who was faring well. Savon let out two more fireballs, which exploded when they hit. Orc's and Nords went flying back farther. Savon looked back to see he was nearing his dark elf companions. He charged back towards them with his minion following. He made his way to the front and held his ground, slashing away. He looked backwards and saw more elves pouring into the gap they made and widening it.

But the Orc's and Nord's fought on. They accepted wounds and killed elves as much as elves killed them. Upon fear of losing the elves in the gap, Stal ordered for the elves to retreat. Savon knew the choice was wise but he was still unhappy with it. He backed away with his comrades, but didn't stop the flow of fireballs and slashing of Dal Kav.

By the time they made it back to where they had started the charge, a half hour had gone by. Elves were setting up tents and rolling out rocks and trees from the forest to strengthen their defenses in case the Orc's and Nord's attacked. Savon looked back over the swarm of enemies. And he knew, this would not be an easy fight.

**Next chapter has about a paragraph done, so expect it in a week. It depends on the amount of reviews I get. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Tapan

**Hello readers! Hope you like this chapter, and please review when you're done.**

Imperial Planes

7:00

Savon sat by the large fire, staring into the flames. Elves nearby ran past carrying logs and rocks to the walls they were making facing the Orc's and Nord's. They too had begun to make large walls facing the new threat. From what scouts said, it seemed as though most of the opposing forces had left the Imperial City to come help defeat the elves. So far, neither side had attacked, but Savon knew soon that would change.

He flicked a twig into the flames, watching it burst up. He got to his feet and stretched and went to go help with the wall. The elves had constructed ramps to heave up the heavy rocks and logs but Savon could do it much easier.

"Stand back!" He said loudly. The elves lowered the logs and rocks and got out of the way watching Savon. Savon brought forth his hand and grabbed all the rocks and logs in his wide magical grasp. He positioned them in different places, and used magic to keep them together. By the end, he had added five feet to the wall. The dunmer saluted him, and he saluted back and walked towards Stal's tent.

Stal was busy at work with many maps around him. He had a ink covered quill between his teeth, and every now and then he would mark a few lines on a map. As Savon walked in, Stal slammed his fist against the wooden table. He turned to Savon, a wild glaze in his eyes.

"It just won't work!" He yelled. "We don't have enough elves to take out the Nord and Orc forces!"

Savon's eyes widened and he came to the table and looked down at a map showing the battlefield.

"See, if we purge their lines and make it to the city," Stal said, pointing to a marked section on the map. "They can easily regroup and crush us like a hammer against rock. One side will hold while the other will charge in, and once the other has got our army in confusion, the other side will strike. Like two hammers striking each other."

He brought a hand to his sweaty brow and sighed.

"If you were commander Savon, what would ya do?" He asked finally. Savon paced, his mind racing.

"I would wait. We can hold off the Nord and Orc attacks, and since they're no longer in the city, the Imperials will have time to make a stronger barricade." Savon said after many seconds. "I would have elves build high walls as we are doing now, and post archers behind them. Take every soldier who can shoot a bow to the wall. If the Nord's and Orc's attack, then the archers can stop them from even reaching us. We can slowly reduce their numbers and finally we can strike with all our forces."

Stal nodded impressed with his thinking.

"You'd make a good commander Savon. Yes you would." Stal said thumping Savon on the back. "And I'm thinkin' along the same lines as you are right now. But if we're ever gonna win this war, we're gonna need luck, and a lot of it. Now go, I got some more planning to do."

Savon saluted and walked out of the tent, bringing a hand to his eyes against the large fire outside. He watched as the elves ran across the camp carrying logs. Yes, they would need luck.

Night

Savon awoke, and felt as though his blood had turned to ice. He had heard a horn, had it been a dream? The horn sounded again, louder this time. Savon leaped out of bed grabbing his armor. He pulled it on quickly and grabbed Dal Kav as he exited his tent. The camp was in chaos. Elves ran everywhere, carrying weapons and wheeling catapults. Savon ran to where the horn had sounded, to the left of their army and the Orc and Nord's army. There Stal stood, a rusty sword clutched tightly in his hand.

"I think its reinforcements for the Orc's and Nord's. I don't recognize that horn." Stal said gravelly. Savon gritted his teeth. Another force of Nord or Orc's would seal their deaths. Savon drew Dal Kav and stretched his arm forwards to loosen up. Again the horn sounded, but it was coming towards the dark elf camp. It was louder than ever, perhaps only a mile away. Elves ran up to the front of the line with arrows drawn on their bows.

"I'm going to go scout." Savon said to Stal and slipped into the darkness before he could protest. Savon sprinted through the night, his keen vision guiding his feet. He ran across the yellow grass and dove into the forest. He saw dark figures in the distance, and he started to climb a tree. He pulled hand over hand over hand, and he made it to the higher branches. He waited a few seconds, and then the figures began to rush from underneath him. He couldn't make out what race they were but he wasn't ready to trust them.

Taking a small breath, he leapt from the tree and landed in front of the figures, bending his legs to absorb the fall. He brought Dal Kav forward to one's neck. The figures halted.

"Who are you?" said one in a voice that sounded very human.

"Who are you?" Savon answered. The figure next to the one with Dal Kav at its throat drew a torch, and he lit it. The flames danced across the surface, light erupted into place and the light reflected off the strangers brown faces. They were redguards. The one with the torch wore heavy steel armor, and the others wore similar armor, except theirs wasn't as bulky.

"I am Tapan." Said the redguard with the steel armor. "Leader of the redguard armies, here to help the Imperials. And who are you?"

"I am Savon, leader of Da' Raethe and battle-mage for the dark elves." Savon returned. "And we too are here to help the Imperials."

The redguard nodded.

"Let us move on." Said Savon. He turned, sheathing Dal Kav, and ran back towards their encampment.

"Sir. Tapan." Said another redguard. "Do you think we should follow him? It could be a trap."

Tapan let out a small chuckle.

"Knowing the dark elves, if they wanted us dead, we already would be." Tapan said. "Follow me."

And he set off after Savon.

Three hours later

After the redguards made it to the camp, Stal had them set up tents. He met with Tapan and they sat and discussed tactics. Savon walked throughout the tents, his mind racing. The redguards had brought ten thousand warriors and Savon guessed they would have enough to destroy the Orc's and Nord's, but he wasn't sure. They were to attack in the morning.

But the question was, could the Imperials wait that long? Scouts reported that the Orcs and Nords were again trying to get to the Imperials, and Savon was sure the Imperials wouldn't last long. So he made up his mind. He was going to the Imperials.

He went to his tent and got some water and food and ate and drank them fast. He would leave now. He walked to the side, for his plan was to swim to the walls and climb them to get into the city.

As he walked to the side, Tapan walked from a tent, for his meeting with Stal was over. He saw Savon and walked over calling to him.

"Savon!" He shouted in his deep voice. Savon turned. "Where are you going?"

Savon sighed. He hadn't wanted anyone to know.

"I'm going to the Imperials. I fear they will not last until the morning." Savon said grimly. He started to turn when Tapan said,

"I'm coming."

Savon turned startled.

"Of course you're not." He said. "You would only slow me down."

"Try me." Said Tapan, grinning slightly. Savon looked away then decided.

"Fine, you can come. But it will be hard I assure you."

Tapan answered by loosening his longsword from his sheath. Tapan walked up.

"Let's go." He said. Savon nodded and ran off into the dark. Tapan ran after, and soon, they were gone.

Half an hour later

They crouched by the shore of the lake, slowly making their way towards it. Orcs were within a hundred yards, so they had to be careful. Tapan surprised Savon. He moved with almost the stealth of a dunmer.

Savon cast a glance around him, and walked into the lake. The cold water hit him hard, but he did not slow. Behind him, Tapan waded into the water and with a deep breath, he and Savon went under. They swam furiously, sweeping their arms back and forth. After twenty seconds Tapan came up for air. The cold water stung Savon's eyes, but he kept them open. Savon came up ten seconds later and saw they were halfway across the small lake.

With another breath he submerged. He cupped his hands and kept pushing against the water. As he kicked down a leg, he felt rock. He brought his head up to the surface, and could just touch his feet. Tapan, who was about 6 and two inches tall, was able to walk easier than Savon, who was only 6. They came from the water soaking wet, but they continued.

The shore was rocky and tough, and they'd have to be careful of being seen since Orcs were close. The way up to the wall was steep, basically strait up, and rocky, and as Savon reached it, he leaped up and held on to a protruding rock. He looked down at Tapan.

"Need help?" Savon mouthed. Tapan shook his head and began the climb, perhaps not as gracefully as Savon, but it worked. Savon swung his head back forward and started to climb like a spider, using his hands and feet equally. He looked up towards the wall and shrunk back. Standing against the wall was a burly Orc. And he had seen Savon. The Orc wasn't sure what it had been, but he knew it was something. Grabbing his huge hammer he walked towards the cliff.

Savon reached to his leather belt and drew a throwing knife, since magic would be too noticeable. The Orc lumbered closer, and Savon drew it behind his back. When the Orc reached the cliff, he paused, and stuck his head a little over the edge. To find a dagger flying towards him. It hit him square in the face, and before he could howl, Savon grabbed one of his tree-like legs and pulled him off the ledge. He plummeted downwards, and Savon remembered Tapan. He cast a quick glance down and watched as the Orc fell towards him. Tapan drew his sword and hit the falling Orc away, and it hit the stones hard. Tapan sheathed his sword and looked up at Savon.

"Next time, tell me when you're going to do something like that." Tapan said. Savon smiled slightly and rolled over the edge onto the dry grass. He got to his feet and waited as Tapan made his way up. When Tapan pulled himself over the edge, Savon gestured towards the wall, and ran towards it. Tapan followed, steadying his breath.

When Savon reached the wall, he brought forth a hand and tested how the small spikes would hold. Determining they could hold, he pulled himself up, and continued upwards. Savon turned and saw Tapan standing there, unsure of what to do.

"Here." Savon said. He brought forth his hand and used magic to levitate him upwards. Tapan was startled, but calmed as he saw it was Savon performing the magic. Savon brought him to the top of the wall, and let go, and Tapan landed smoothly. Savon continued up, and when he grasped the top of the wall, he swung himself up and used the momentum to get over.

He and Tapan overlooked the Imperial City, which most of was burning. Orcs ran throughout the shops and homes, taking the valuables and burning them when they were finished. Nord's followed them, grabbing whatever seemed the most expensive. They looked towards the palace, and saw that the Orc's and Nord's were indeed there and almost through the door as it seemed. Savon tapped Tapan on the shoulder, and they ran on the wall to the right. They ran and occasionally had to jump, for huge pieces of the wall had been blasted out by catapults. The way the city was laid out separated each of the sections using walls. These walls led directly to the palace, where they stopped and began to circle. Savon set out on one of these walls, careful not to be seen.

When they reached the palace district, he and Tapan crouched down, and slowly made their way across the wall because Orc's and Nord's filled almost the entire space. They snuck for about three minutes, before Savon determined this was as close as they would get.

"Ready?" he whispered. Tapan nodded and unsheathed his blade.

"Let's go." He answered. Savon drew Dal Kav, and dove into his mind. He brought forth a fireball and let it fly, aiming for the area where most of the enemies seemed to stand.

The fireball exploded to fifty feet, and hungrily leapt onto its victims, burning their eyes and skin. Savon and Tapan were close behind. They jumped downwards, catching their enemies at surprise. Before he hit, Savon sent forth a streak of lightning that killed five Orc's and two Nord's. He swung Dal Kav downwards and caught an Orc at the neck, and hit foot broke another's jaw. Tapan swung down fiercely before he landed, and killed two Orcs. He landed and swung around, skillfully swinging his blade in tight motions so none could get near him.

Savon landed in a crouch and stabbed Dal Kav out behind him and the blade hit its target. He turned and kicked a Nord's hammer from its hands and followed with a quick slash left, which brought the Nord down. He turned around, parrying blows from hammers, axes, and swords, but none made a difference. Two Orc's rushed forward from different sides swinging with extreme power. Savon flipped over the first, and the Orc's blows hit each other, knocking them out.

Tapan ducked as a hammer came flying overhead and sent his silver sword flying towards the attacker. The sword flew eight feet before hitting the Nord. Unarmed, Tapan grabbed the head of a warhammer, and he ripped it from the Orc's grasp, and threw his shoulder into the Orc's face, who crumpled down unconscious. Tapan handled the hammer as though he had trained with it all his life, swinging it in complicated patterns, and never halting. The huge hammer kept all from getting within a few feet, and Tapan wasn't getting tired. In need of his sword again, he threw the hammer sideways into a large group of Nord's who fell back with their breath knocked out. Tapan dove for his sword. He grasped the handle and pulled it forth to kill a coming Orc. Tapan halted as he heard a loud scraping noise and heard humans roaring. The sound of many feet and unsheathed blades came forth and Tapan realized the Imperials had broken out. He looked back to his enemies and attacked again.

Savon ducked as a spear came flying and as it soared over his head, he grabbed it and threw it back, slamming the Orc into the stone wall. He watched as the Imperials came closer, each one with fire in their eyes. And the Orc's and Nord's were at last afraid. They panicked, and the Imperials, Tapan, and Savon destroyed them. It seemed they were invincible. There they fought for many minutes until their enemies ran to escape.

Savon looked to his left and saw an Orc running towards the gates. He let forth another stream of electricity that slammed the Orc to the ground. Savon looked around and saw none alive, so he ran to where Tapan and the Imperials were fighting. He watched from afar as the group killed the final Orc, and a great yell of victory rose forth. They had won the district.


	14. The King of Ice

**Another chapter. But this time, we went from 5 reviews, to 12! How great is that? Since you guys did that, I decided to get some more writing done, and here is the result. This chapter is for those who have reviewed! So, read!**

Afralon, Skyrim

Dawn

The dunmer walked through the streets, guarded closely, and slowly made their way towards the tower. The walls of the city were huge stone blocks that were specifically made for repelling catapults. Most of the buildings inside the city were made of logs, but some were made of rock. The street was packed down by the huge Nord's walking on them and their wagons being wheeled down them.

Sakov looked to his right, and saw a face in a window, but it disappeared as soon as it saw Sakov looking. Something didn't feel right. After they had gotten in the carts, they were brought to the city of Afralon, the capital of the Nord Empire. There they slept in a cold wooden building, and as soon as the sun let out its first rays of light, they were ushered out of their beds and onto the street.

Sakov turned to a Nord guard walking at his side, and asked,

"Are we going to the tower?"

The Nord turned.

"Ye keep yer dirty face down, ye hear?" The Nord said loudly. "Ye're lucky ye even made it to the city. And if ye ask me one more little question, I'll snap yer neck."

Sakov frowned, and Rotilan walked up.

"Don't worry Sakov, I think they're just being friendly." He mused. Sakov raised his eyebrows and continued on. The stone street angled upwards slightly, and it seemed they were nearing the tower. The buildings were now almost all stone, and many guards patrolled the streets. Sakov watched as a group of Nord's with hammers worked on a stone building, slamming their hammers against the rock. Sakov kept watching, and didn't realize the guard in front of him had stopped. Sakov walked straight into him and stumbled backwards. Sakov sighed as he saw the guard was the one who had just threatened him. The guard turned, pulling out a hammer.

"That's it dunmer rat!" He roared. He charged at Sakov, swinging the hammer over his head. Sakov rolled to the right and swung out his foot and slammed it against the Nord's back, pinning him to the ground. He scrambled over to the Nord and pushed his shoulders against the stone, stopping him from moving.

"You're going to get up," Sakov said softly. "And forget this ever happened. Otherwise it'll be my blade at your back, not my foot."

Sakov got back to his feet and took a few safe steps back. The Nord got to his feet glaring at Sakov, and went back to the front of the line and kept marching. Rotilan walked up again.

"Jeez, you sure know how to get them mad." Rotilan said. "Just don't do that to their king."

Sakov nodded and kept walking.

One hour later

They continued on and the street inclined even more. They were now at a straightaway to the tower, and they were able to see it in its full glory.

It rose hundreds of feet into the air, and as it grew higher, it grew thinner and thinner. The door to the tower was huge, made of steel. Tens of guards guarded the gates, holding huge pikes in their hands. The guards escorting them formed two lines on their sides and marched along, bringing them closer. The guards nodded to one another, and two guards protecting the door with their two pikes, moved to the side to let the elves enter. As soon as Sakov, Drizzon and Rotilan passed through though, the guards brought their pikes to the door once again, the two spiked pieces of metal crossing over the entryway. The elves halted, and Sakov turned abruptly.

"Let them through." Sakov said. "They are with me."

The Nord shot him a filthy look.

"Only three people allowed in at a time." The Nord growled. Sakov lingered in his position for another second, but turned, seeing the Nord would not budge. He faced back to the inner hall, and took a step forward. The hall was huge, large enough to fit at least one temple back in Morrowind inside of it with room to spare. Nords were stationed every foot or so along the wall, and their eyes followed the elves from under their helmets. The ceiling was at least a hundred or two feet high, and the ceiling was gold, and it shone. It occurred to Sakov that it might be gold.

The floor was polished marble, and the walls seemed to be made of marble as well. There was no doubt, this was a grand place. The Nord guards in here were different. Instead of the usual fur armor, these Nord's wore heavy black steel armor. Their helmets covered all but a small section of their chins, and their eyes, and it too was made of black steel. As they walked down the hall, they noticed some of the guard's battle-axes and claymores seemed finer, and some wore capes.

These must be the king's guards, Sakov thought to himself. Rotilan didn't even look impressed; he walked without even looking up, or around him. Drizzon though, like Sakov, was. He imagined the hall itself must have taken about a century. As they neared the end of the hall, Sakov began to make out a throne. A huge figure sat upon it, and surrounding the throne were two guards, but they were different from all the others.

Their armor was black steel, but there were specks of diamond inlaid in it, strengthening it. But the most prominent aspect of the armor was that every few inches around it, a razor sharp spike protruded from the black steel. Their helmets covered all but their eyes, and on top of their helmets was a foot long razor sharp spike sticking out. The Nord's were the biggest Sakov had seen, topping Tor by a few inches, so they were about seven feet and seven inches. Strapped onto their backs were the largest hammers Sakov had seen; about six feet long. Even through the armor, the dunmer could see that the Nord's arms were muscled beyond anything they had ever seen before, and their biceps were as big as Sakov's slim waist. On their hips were dual axes, razor sharp.

The King too, was unlike any Nord Sakov had seen. He was obviously a fighter; his huge arms showed Sakov that. He was about seven feet, but he didn't look big compared to the Nord's next to him. His face was big, everything about it was, but he had a sly expression on it that showed he was not dumb. His hair was long and blond and hung to his muscled and corded shoulders. He wore a burgundy jacket, made of fine leather, and under that he wore a silk garment. His pants were tight, outlining the muscles there, and his boots were leather, and sat upon the base of his throne. His name was Gargoth, fifty eighth leader of the Nord's, his bloodline stretching all the way back to the great king of the Nord's, Huvain, an uncorrupt Nord.

When the two other dunmer were within twenty feet, Sakov held out his arm to stop them, and he and the other two sank to their knees. Gargoth smirked.

"Get up elves." He said lazily. "Or do ye want me to get me guards to help ye?"

Sakov and the others got to their feet quickly.

"Great King of the No-," Sakov started.

"Get closer ye dumb animals." The King spat. "Oh yes, I fergot meself. They don't teach ye manners in yer little volcano do they? They let you roam and eat the grass, like the animals you are."

Rotilan and Drizzon tensed, and it was all Sakov could do to not throw himself at the king now and stick his blade into his throat.

"Guards, take their weapons." The King said smugly, knowing exactly what Sakov wanted to do. The spiked guards walked over to the dunmer and snapped off their sheaths and tossed them to other guards on the side.

"That's better." Gargoth said, smirking. "We don't want the little elves playing with something sharp, do we?"

Sakov bit back a retort and the three elves dared to walk closer.

"That's better." The Nord growled. "Now, why in the sea of ice, have three mud rats escaped from their hole, and swam all the way to me lands?"

Sakov bowed his head and said.

"This war is going on for too long. Provinces need to group up to sur-," Sakov started.

"Whoa!" Gargoth exclaimed. "The animal speaks?"

Sakov held back a glare, and continued.

"Provinces will need to group up to survive. We come to ask if you will become our allies, and us yours, to help survive." Sakov said.

Gargoth smirked.

"What makes ye think we don't already have enough allies?" The King asked. "Why would we want animals on our side?"

"Wouldn't more alli-," Sakov started. Gargoth slammed his fist against his throne.

"Guards! I grow tired of listening to him try to communicate with me." The King yelled. "Kill them."

The two spiked guards took out their huge hammers, and advanced. The guards on the side took out their weapons too, but stayed in position. The King sat back, enjoying the spectacle.

Sakov dove to the left, sprinting to the guards that held their weapons. While he ran, Rotilan sent a bolt of lightning at the spiked guard chasing him. The bolt connected, but the Nord shook off the pain and turned his sights on Rotilan. Drizzon followed Sakov to the left, careful that no guards were after him.

The two guards holding their weapons held out their spears low, jabbing them threateningly. A group of guards on the side, including the ones with their weapons, started to circle around the two dunmer as soon as they got close. Sakov leaped at one of the guards holding their weapons. The guard brought his spear upwards to impale Sakov, but Sakov grabbed below the point, and swung down and kicked at the Nord's head. The Nord groaned and fell back, and Sakov grabbed his spear. Three Nords advanced from the side, so he spun around quickly, spinning the spear too, hitting the Nords across their heads. As they recoiled, he stabbed the spear deep into ones chest, and spun and killed another.

Drizzon held his hands with one up and one below. As a Nord charged in with a hammer, he ducked and extended his leg, tripping him up. He tumbled to the floor heavily, but not before Drizzon snatched his hammer from his grasp. He brought it down upon the fallen Nord's head. He bunched up his muscles and turned the hammer back upwards. He used the momentum to bring it up over his head, and slammed it against a Nord's shield. The hammer left a dent, but the Nord with the shield stabbed out with his sword, aiming for Drizzon's chest. Drizzon brought his foot up, kicking the sword into the air. Skillfully, Drizzon snatched it before the Nord and stabbed it into him. Dropping the hammer, Drizzon went in low at another Nord. The Nord batted the sword away and slammed his huge fist against Drizzon's head. Drizzon groaned and almost fell unconscious, but he shook it off and stabbed again.

Sakov swung the spear fast, slamming it against the Nord's hand. The Nord flinched, but kept hold on his axe. Sakov stabbed in again, turning at the last second to bring it upwards to the Nord's jaw. The spear broke the bone there, and the Nord fell to the ground. Without an enemy pressing upon him, Sakov dove to one of the unconscious Nords carrying their weapons and fumbled with two of the sheaths he had strapped to his thick leather belt. He got them after a second, and found it was his sword and Rotilan's. Seeing Drizzon already had a sword, and buckled Rotilan's to his belt and looked to see how he was faring.

Rotilan ducked back again, and sent a fireball at the two huge Nord's. The magic didn't seem to penetrate their spiked armor. He dove to the left, just out of reach of the Nord's huge hammers. He sent a compacted ball of air strait at one of the Nord's, but while most of everyone would fall back to it, the Nord didn't even flinch. He was being forced towards the wall, and he sent a fireball at the guards stationed at it. Unlike the spiked guards, they flew into the air, flaming. Rotilan sprinted to the wall thinking to run on the side, but guards were closing in, blocking all escape routes. So he did the only thing he could.

"Sakov, Drizzon, help!" He yelled.

As Sakov unbuckled Drizzon's sword from the dead Nord, he heard the call. He turned immediately towards Rotilan. Without a word Sakov said,

"Catch!"

He tossed Drizzon's sheath to him with the sword inside. It spun through the air, but Drizzon turned and caught it, swinging it expertly. He dropped the other sword and unsheathed his own.

"To Rotilan!" Drizzon yelled. Sakov yelled his affirmative, and jumped high over a Nord, stabbing down. He landed running, and sprinted across the marble floor, headed for Rotilan.

Rotilan spun to the left, one of the spiked guard's hammers tearing out a huge slab of the wall. He let forth a lightning bolt at a group of Nord's advancing upon him, and they flew back thirty feet before crashing to the ground. He spun instinctively as a Nord Guard sent a throwing hammer flying his way. He ducked, and it took out a large chunk of the wall above his head. The two spiked guards came in, swinging their hammers simultaneously. Rotilan twisted awkwardly to avoid the blows, but the Nord's raised the hammers over their heads again, and Rotilan knew he wouldn't be able to dodge.

"Sakov, this would be a good time." He muttered to himself impatiently. As if he had heard, Sakov came in from the side, slamming himself against the two Nord's, tipping them to the side. Sakov was thrown to the floor, but he spun up, sword leading. He wove it in at the spiked guards. Overhand, sidehand, thrust, backhand. Each time the Nord's swung their at least a hundred pound hammers to block, but Sakov would not be denied. He wove his sword through one's defense and sliced him across the chest. The armor took the blow, and the Nord didn't flinch. That's when Drizzon came. He leaped atop one's head, and started to stab for his eyes, but the spiked guard grabbed him, and threw him against the wall. Sakov leaped in the air, and kicked his foot in a thrust. The boot connected solid, but the only thing it accomplished was to get the Nord a little farther away from Drizzon.

Abandoning the hammer, the Nord grabbed his two razor sharp axes off his belt, and spun them in his hands. He came upon Sakov, spinning them to try to get Sakov off guard. But Sakov was better. He parried and twisted, stopping all the attacks like a rock wall. The Nord positioned his axes to his side and brought his spiked shoulder at Sakov. Instead of blocking, Sakov grabbed the guards shoulder, and pushed back. Seeing his advantage, he ran up the Nord's chest as he would a wall, and slammed his foot into his jaw. Although the helmet took most of the blow, the Nord groaned. Sakov landed in a crouch and stabbed his blade at the Nord, piercing the armor. The Nord roared, and brought his head down so the spike was facing Sakov, and charged. Sakov waited until the last second and spun to the left. The Nord didn't see and kept charging. Right into Rotilan's lightning bolt. The Nord let out a painful groan, and fell to the floor.

Sakov turned to the other Nord, who was dueling Drizzon. Drizzon parried an axe, and pushed back, a kick following his initial attack. Both hit, but neither pierced the tough armor. On came Sakov, swinging his sword. The blade hit at the Nord's neck and pierced. He turned back dazed, and got hit by the hilt of Drizzon's sword. He too fell unconscious. Sakov turned, and though there were Nord's left, none seemed to want to get closer.

"Is this all?" Sakov yelled in defiance to the king. "Is this all that Skyrim can muster?"

The King's expression was fearful, but he did not flinch when Sakov took a step towards him. Then the king chuckled.

"I'm afraid it is not."

His hand twitched on his throne, shifting a small loose stone upon it. All Sakov knew was he was falling through the dark. After a few seconds, he was slammed against metal. He looked up, almost unconscious. Rotilan and Drizzon were beside him, but Drizzon was not awake. Rotilan groaned.

The King stood and walked to the hole which had just formed in the middle of the floor and looked down. When he saw the elves, he roared in laughter.

"Down in yer hole," He roared. "Where ye belong."

Sakov burned with hatred, but he felt himself being tugged into the darkness, and he fell into a deep slumber.

**What did you think? Keep up the reviews guys, and if you want me to review yours, just say so in your review. Alright, so, next chapter. I don't even know who it's going to be about, Sakov, or Savon and Tapan. Or an entirely new set of characters, well... mostly new. In your review tell me who you want more, Sakov or Savon and Tapan, or someone who was only in one chapter, who you never thought you'd see again. I'm giving too many hints, so leave me a review. :)**


	15. Survival

**Hello readers! This chapter is for all those who have reviewed and read this story. **

**Devin- Sorry this isn't about Savon and Tapan, it's just that I thought this would be a good time for these next two characters**

The robed and hooded dark elf ran around the corner again, searching for liquid. He sprinted to the left up the stone stairs and found a small leather pouch filled with old water. He grimaced slightly, and ran back, pouch in hand. Two rights, one left, and he entered the small stone room where another robed dunmer lay, his breathing coming in short bursts. The other dunmer ran to his side, and forced some of the water into his mouth.

"Twal," the hooded elf said quietly. "Are you still with me?"

Twal groaned, shifting slightly. Suddenly his eyes snapped open.

"Benzyl?" Twal asked. "I- I'm still alive?"

Benzyl chuckled grimly.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "But your fever is only worsening."

Twal nodded and sipped some more water. Benzyl stood.

"Now go back to sleep." He said. "You need to heal."

Twal closed his eyes, grimacing as a wave of pain shot up his leg from an arrow wound. Benzyl walked from the room, resuming his salvage of the items.

Benzyl was of the Morag Tong, as was Twal. The day the Dark Brotherhood had attacked, he had been far across the lands, assassinating a house Telvanni mage. He had returned to the Morag Tong base, his home, and found it in ruins. His fellow assassins were all dead. Except one. In the last room, Benzyl had found Twal, as near death as possible. Benzyl had removed the arrows, and started to ready Twal to take him back up to a healer. But the unexpected had happened. The entrance to their base had caved in. They were trapped in here. Twal started to show improvement, and then the fever hit. He had it now for two days. Two days out of the seven Benzyl had been here. Benzyl was fairly sure he would be able to break out on his own, but he could not leave Twal to die. Twal needed water every few hours to keep him healing, something had been very hard to come by.

He walked down the rock hallway and took a right into a dusty room alit by torches that reflected off his blackish face. Rummaging through the mess, he found naught but weapons and bodies. The bodies were everywhere. Black robed and red, Dark Brotherhood and Morag Tong, all dead, scattered across the floor like some painting of some cruel artist. The expressions on the corpses faces were what made Benzyl turn away. Some screamed out, their mouths still open. Others had a look in their eye showing fear beyond comparison. Benzyl's job was to kill. He was not unaccustomed to seeing dead bodies. But this was different. Those assassinated had usually wronged in some way, almost deserved their fate. But this was different. A massacre beyond reason. Benzyl gagged as he came across a finger under a silver katana.

Getting to his unsteady feet, Benzyl turned, done with this room, and exited. He started to walk back to Twal, but stopped. In the corner of his vision at the end of the hallway, he saw a flash of black, as though someone in a cloak had walked past. Benzyl's eyes locked in the place where he had seen it. A shiver went up his spine. He heard a deep sound, most similar to an old man drawing breath. But this was different. Benzyl took a step forward. The breathing stopped. Benzyl was frozen, his heart hammering. He willed his feet to move, and he turned around, walking back towards Twal. The breathing sounded behind him, and he turned quickly, his adrenaline spiking. The same flourish of a cloak passed the end of the hallway. Benzyl turned and sprinted back towards Twal, and his weapons.

Twal opened his eyes as Benzyl entered, sensing danger.

"We need to find a way out." Benzyl said quickly. "There is something in here, that shouldn't, something unnatural, something-,"

The breathing halted his sentence. Benzyl froze. The breathing was right outside the doorway. Benzyl scooped up his bow, drawing an arrow.

"I need to get you up," Benzyl whispered. "We need to-,"

But Twal's eyes were not on him, but something behind.

"Save our souls." Twal whispered. Benzyl turned slowly, but a scream erupted from the thing. He caught a glimpse of a pale face, and a dark cloak, but then the room was falling. He and Twal flew back, the walls blown apart. The thing screeched and Benzyl had one last thought. It was a wraith.

Twal slammed against a chunk of the wall, and saw Benzyl lying on the ground. Adrenaline guiding him he heaved himself up, ignoring the intense nausea, and went to Benzyl. Twal kneeled down, calling his name. Benzyl twitched. Twal looked up, and he jumped back. The wraith stood at the end of the tunnel it had created. The wraith was a creature of death. Its cloak was a black as the void, and its face was as pale as the moon. Its feature's were distorted; its mouth cut into its face at an odd angle as though made with a knife, and its teeth were sharp as a wolf. Its eyes were white and without pupils, and it's nose was two slits, like a snake's. Few lived to survive a wraith. But as Twal looked upon this wraith, he saw it was no regular wraith. This wraith's only purpose was to kill. A wraith of another world, only brought forth between rituals, summoning and sacrifice. But Twal would not give up. To give up was to die. The wraith took a step forward, it's breathing ragged.

Twal tore his gaze away from it and back to Benzyl. Twal picked him up, his body burning with fever. Twal growled and ran the other way from the wraith. The tunnel he was in was rocky and low, and several times Twal had to get on his knees. He once even had to throw Benzyl up on the ledge and jump up, testing his weak body. But he would not falter. To falter, was to be killed. He scooped Benzyl up again, and stumbled on. The tunnel behind him was silent. He knew he was close to getting back into the Morag Tong base, when he halted. He had reached a dead end. He ran to the rock and pounded at it. It shook, and he could tell it was not very thick. Twal grabbed Benzyl's sheathed sword and swung at the barrier. It shook again.

He swung it again, and this time, the rock gave way a little, making a very small hole. Then he heard the breathing. He cast a quick glance behind him, but no one was there. He resumed hacking at the wall, but even faster. The small hole cracked and became bigger, but the breathing was growing even louder. He groaned as a wave of pain and nausea and heat went through his body, putting him on the ground. He almost fell into the waiting darkness, but he would not. He got to his feet again, sword slashing faster than ever. The hole got larger and larger, until Twal could fit his head through it. He cast another glance behind him and panicked. The wraith stood twenty feet behind, walking towards him.

Twal swung the sword two more times, and heaved Benzyl through the hole. He threw the sword through and wriggled his shoulders through, and his waist. He tumbled out and all was silent.

Twal's breath came in short bursts; his sick body was not used to such treatment. After ten seconds, he turned and went to grab the sword. But it was gone. Twal turned more and his question was answered. Benzyl's eyes were open, and he was sitting, the sword resting in his hand.

"Benzyl." Twal gasped. Benzyl nodded. He groaned slightly and pushed himself up. Twal took another deep breath and looked around. They were in a sandstone hallway of the Morag Tong base. The hallway branched off at the ending and formed a Y, each hall leading to different directions. Twal got to his knees, and Benzyl offered him a hand. Twal heaved himself up, his breath still ragged. Benzyl reached into his robe and pulled forth a long dagger, more of a short sword, and handed it to Twal. Twal nodded and gestured for him to lead. Benzyl turned and ran the opposite way, Twal close behind. Benzyl took a left, and ran downwards. He ran to a bloodied rug and swept it away. There, was a trap door. Twal's eyes widened.

"Benzyl," Twal muttered. "This tunnel has been off limits since the beginning of the Morag Tong! The dangers down there…"

Benzyl nodded.

"I know." He said. "But it's the only way out I can think of."

Benzyl pulled open the trapdoor with a creak. A strange mist floated up from beneath, bathing them in freezing air. Twal sighed, and climbed into the darkness. He leaped down, his feet touching lightly against the rock floor. Benzyl jumped down and closed the trapdoor. All was dark.

But as Twal looked in the distance, he saw a light, most likely from a torch. He looked at the other directions but all there was in sight was mist. As he looked closer, he thought he saw a figure. But he shook it off and walked towards the distant light, drawing the dagger close. Benzyl followed close, sword at the ready. Twal hastened his walk, wanting to be rid of this place. The silence was unnerving.

Twal's eyes picked up on small little things, thinking a section of mist to be the wraith. Every shadow seemed to be an enemy. After a minute of this, they reached the torch. It was a magical flame that would burn forever. He looked closer and saw strange runes carved into the stone. He took a step backwards.

"We-we shouldn't be here." He stuttered. "Thi-This is the flame of the Marhest!"

Benzyl shook at the name of the leader of the wraiths.

"You must be mistaken." Benzyl said, trying to sound confident. "Why would it be-,"

But a loud rasping noise cut him off. They turned to the side, eyes wide in fear. There in the shadows, stood the wraith. Another rasping noise sounded behind them, and they spun to see another wraith.

Twal brought the knife out, readying it.

"You take the other one." Twal said. "We can't escape them in their labyrinth."

Benzyl grimly nodded and advanced on the other, sword swinging.

Twal took a step closer, and the wraith moved closer, drawing a thin jagged blade. Twal took another step. The wraith moved closer. And then it screeched and came in wildly at Twal. Twal just managed to bring his blade to block, and the wraith pushed his blade to the side, swinging his other hand. The hand struck Twal in the temple, and Twal felt numbness flow though his body. He shook it off, and took the offensive, faking a blow to the wraith's side, then brought it below angling up. The wraith caught the maneuver and twisted its blade at Twal. Twal knocked the attack away and stabbed at the wraith's side. The blade sunk in, and mist swirled from the wound, but no blood.

Twal leaped back as the wraith struck out his jagged blade. The blade nicked Twal's chest, but Twal paid no notice and continued his attack. But his strength was fading he knew. The wraith played his sword in a circle and knocked Twal's blade from his hand sending Twal to the stone floor. Twal pushed with his arms and legs backwards to get away. The wraith walked in, blade over its head.

Benzyl parried a low cut, turning the blade out and striking in with the pommel of his sword. The pommel caught the wraith at the chin, but the wraith attacked again swinging its sword faster than ever. Benzyl's sword moved in a blur, defeating the attacks. He blocked a cut coming downwards, and pushed back, sending the wraith's sword behind its back. Benzyl stabbed his blade towards the wraiths chest and the sword sank in, but only mist came out of the open wound. The wraith screeched and slammed the pommel of its sword against Benzyl's temple. Benzyl groaned but turned his blade out of the wraiths chest and swung again, oblivious to his vulnerable friend.

The wraith swung down at Twal, but Twal caught the blow with a steel section on the bottom of his leather boot. He pushed up sending the blade backwards. He brought his foot back and snapped it out at the wraith's chest. The wraith reeled back a step, but took no damaged. Twal pushed off and rolled towards his dagger, but the wraith's sword nicked Twal's leather greaves. Twal winced but kept going for his dagger. The wraith attacked again and Twal dove again, this time escaping the blade. Twal grabbed his dagger and turned back, getting to his feet. The wraith swung again and slammed Twal's dagger away and with his other hand he swung his clawed hand across Twal's chest, drawing a line of blood. Twal blinked and gritted his teeth. He swung his dagger downwards but the wraith turned and parried the blow pressing Twal back.

Benzyl's attacked, but his blade was almost wrenched from his grasp as the wraith slammed its sword forward. Benzyl brought his blade quickly back to parry, and swung it around knocking the wraith's sword to the side. Benzyl stabbed out and cut the wraith at the neck, but the wraith didn't seem to notice. It darted forward, stabbing its deadly blade and cut Benzyl at his right shoulder. Benzyl winced but continued, drawing the wraith's blade to the side. He held the blade with his left hand and with the other slammed his fist against the wraith's face. The wraith tried to move back, but Benzyl's sword met him first. The blade wrenched through the wraith's torso, splitting it in two. As the wraith fell, Benzyl sliced his blade back and cut off its head.

The wraith disappeared in a swirl of mist, and as it disappeared, Benzyl heard a fading screech. Benzyl turned to see the other wraith and Twal in full combat. Benzyl admired Twal's ability to fight in his condition, and sprang towards them. Twal heard him coming and moved to the side as Benzyl crashed in.

"Benzyl, down!" Twal yelled. Benzyl dove to the ground and Twal swung his arm down and released the dagger. It swung a complete circle before landing in the wraith's neck. The wraith tried to pull it out, but Twal was already there. He pulled out the hilt and slammed the wraith into a carved pillar. He stabbed into the wraith's face twice, and then stabbed it in the heart. The wraith screeched and disappeared. Twal fell back as the mist washed over them. He took several deep breaths before Benzyl said,

"We should leave. More wraiths may be coming."

Twal nodded and Benzyl offered him a hand. Twal pulled himself up and shook himself. His breathing remained ragged as they walked through the dark tunnel, but he kept up with Benzyl and didn't offer complaint. After an hour of fast walking, they reached a ladder. Twal went first, climbing until he reached the trap door. He took a deep breath and shoved it open. He climbed into a damp stone chamber. He could hear water nearby and as he turned, he saw murky water at the end of the passage. Then it hit him. They were in the sewers. He gaped and Benzyl climbed up displaying a similar reaction.

"We, we made it." Twal managed. And he fell unconscious.

**Next chapter I think is going to be about Savon and Tapan, but no promises. As before, tell me who you want. Also, I'm trying to get it so when people review they tell me what they liked about the chapter, and what I could work on, just don't be too mean. :) This way I can make the chapters more to your liking. and if you say how you liked the detailed battle sequences, i'll be more likely to make battles more detailed. So, next chapter i'd say up in about a week more or less. Keep up the reviews!**


	16. The Tension Grows

**Hello readers! Not a long wait for this one right? Ok, so this ones about Savon and Tapan as requested. So, I don't have anything else to say so...Read.**

They had won the area. They were going to win the war. That's all the Imperials could say as they thumped Savon and Tapan on the back, smiling and cheering. Tapan wasn't so sure. Yes, they had won, but they had surprise on their side, and the fact that the other twenty five thousand of the Orc and Nord soldiers were out on the plains. So when the Imperials would cheer his name, or shake his hand, he would smile, but smiled knowing there was more to come.

He watched Savon who was deep in discussion with a captain. Little did he know, the same thing was going through his head. Tapan sighed and grasped the hilt of his longsword, as he always did when he was nervous. But why was he? Now that the three provinces of the Dunmer, Redguards, and Imperials had united, they would destroy the Orcs and Nords. Or would they? What did their enemies have planned for them? Tapan shook himself a little, and tried to stop thinking.

"You propose we should break out of here entirely?" Matius asked. Savon nodded. He pointed to the map again.

"See, if we break out here," Savon said pointing to the temple district. "We can get help from the dunmer and redguards on the other side. But we need speed."

Matius considered the course of action. He pointed up to the market district on the old map and said,

"If we break out here then we'll have less enemies to go through since the focus of the enemy is on your encampment."

Savon shook his head.

"We would be overwhelmed." He said. "If we go through the temple district we can get help and bolster our forces."

"What about the women and children?" Matius asked. "We will not abandon them."

Savon looked up.

"Nor will we." He said confidently. "We can form a defensive ring around them keeping them safe."

Matius frowned, breaking down Savon's plan.

"We'll do it." He finally managed out. Savon nodded and walked to Tapan. Tapan looked up as Savon came and asked,

"What are we going to do?"

"We'll break out through the temple," Savon said quickly. "I'll send a message to the dunmer to make sure they're ready to help."

"But how are you going to do-,"

Savon cut him off by waving his arm through the air. A smoky column rose from the ground. As it disappeared, Savon's man-dragon creature appeared.

"Get to the dunmer," Savon instructed. "Give them this."

He pulled forth a bound letter. The creature roared and grabbed it. It leaped into the air, soaring twenty feet up and landed on the side of the wall. It scampered up and jumped over stealthily, careful not to be seen. Savon turned back.

"Now we wait." Savon said.

Midnight

Tapan stood to the side of a small fire that the Imperials had been cooking food on. He yawned as the heat of the fire swept over him. He moved to the right where wool cots were laid out on the stone. Imperial guards patrolled the palace area keeping constant watch. Savon had left an hour ago to plan with Stal and had left Tapan in charge. Tapan started to unbuckle his longsword when he saw something off to the side. He turned. He looked around but saw nothing. But a slight movement caught his eye. He looked closer and saw a dark form upon the wall.

All the sleepiness gone, Tapan crept down the steps, careful to remain unseen. He crept through a bush and rolled to the wall. The stone stopped his momentum and he froze. The figure started moving across the wall again closer to the Imperials. Tapan measured the distance between him and the top of the wall. He crept to a tree and climbed into the lower branches. He climbed higher and higher until he was only a few feet from the top. He leapt onto the stone wall, drawing his longsword. He crept after the figure until he was only a few yards away.

The figure was no Orc, but it was no elf either. It was small and slim and kept a dirk resting in it's left hand. Tapan moved closer. The figure turned. It was a goblin. Remembering that Orcs used goblins for scouts, he ran in sword ready to strike. The goblin threw its dirk at Tapan and jumped to the side. Tapan sent the dirk crashing away with a swing of his sword and charged in to find the goblin gone. He turned to where the Orcs and Nords were stationed and thought he saw a movement in the dark shadows near them. Unwilling to venture unto the enemy's camp, he sheathed his sword and retreated to the tall tree. He heaved himself down and turned to the captain's tent to tell Matius of the encounter.

Imperial Planes

Daybreak

The Orc was huge by their standards, his head reaching seven and a half feet. His muscles bulged from under his black spiky armor. The armor didn't cover his muscled arms, but the thickness of them was as good of armor as any. On his back was a huge warhammer that glowed ominously, and in fact it was magic. The hammer had the ability to turn aflame upon the Orcs commanding.

This Orc was the legendary commander of the Orcs, Gogran. He walked with confidence that showed he feared nothing, for he had never been bested in combat. Orcs bowed as he walked, and even the proud Nords did not dare get near him. He glared out at them from under his upper head helm that displayed two spikes protruding from the top. He walked through the tents his eyes focused upon the tent that marked the Nord commander, Tardos.

The two guards at the tent didn't dare confront Gogran as he approached, and he swept into the room without their approval.

Tardos sat in a wooden chair, twirling his sword as though he had been expecting the Orc.

"Gogran." He said with a nod.

"Tardos." The Orc answered. "The Imperials have broken out of the palace and they hold the area."

The Nord cursed and slammed his fist down upon the table sending a silver goblet flying.

"How?" Tardos asked growing angry. "How did me warriors and yers get pushed out by a force outnumbering theirs?"

Gogran grunted harshly.

"The Imperials were aided by a dunmer and a redguard." The Orc growled.

"Not any little dunmer and redguard coulda broken the ranks!" Tardos roared. The Orc bared his teeth.

"Not any dunmer." The Orc grunted. "Savon."

That word put Tardos back in his chair.

"He's here?" Tardos yelled. The Orc nodded.

"And some redguard. My warriors say he killed many scores of our soldiers." The Orc put in.

Tardos slammed his fist against the table again. A dunmer battle-mage and some redguard warrior had joined the battle! But he saw that the Gogran was grinning in an Orc way.

"What?" Tardos shot at him. Gogran chuckled roughly.

"They not the only ones who got somethin' new." He said roughly speaking more like his kin than the civilized tongue. Gogran gestured outside to Tardos' confused look. Gogran walked out chuckling. Tardos followed his chainmail clinking loudly. Gogran led him back to the Orc tents where he heard roaring. Gogran chuckled again and rounded a corner a wall of stone rocks. Tardos followed and took a step back from the site before him.

Orcs with long pikes surrounded a large area, stabbing in. Huge ogres were within the circle roaring and taking swipes towards the Orcs, but the Orcs stabbed at them, holding them back but not breaching the ogre's tough skin. There were scores of these ogres and as Gogran shifted his head, Tardos followed and saw another few scores of ogres.

"How many?" Tardos said in disbelief.

"A hundred." Gogran chuckled. "And…"

Gogran bade Tardos to follow. They walked over to near some cliffs overlooking the city. Tardos gasped. The fields below were packed with Orcs; too many to even begin to count. Tardos reasoned that they covered almost a square mile.

"And I've brought twenty thousand more Orcs!" Gogran roared. He drew his hammer off his back, holding it in his right hand. The Orcs focused up on their commander, chanting softly. Gogran raised the hammer into the air and the Orcs roared, all twenty thousand of them.

"Will you be able to send the elves?" Savon asked. Stal nodded.

"Yes," Stal said, his voice showing his tiredness. "What time will you need them?"

Savon paced, thinking.

"The morning after this night." He said. Stal nodded quickly.

"The elves will await your signal."

Savon turned and walked from the tent. Dalvane waited outside and Savon held her hand as they walked.

"Are you going back?" She asked. Savon nodded.

"They need my help." He answered. "I promised them I would return."

Dalvane gave a defeated nod.

"You're not going to try to convince me out of it?" He asked, slightly amused. Dalvane shook her head.

"I know I couldn't stop you if I tried."

Savon chuckled to himself and turned to her.

"I must go." He said. She nodded and they hugged. And he was off. He could go strait back to Tapan and the Imperials, but…something else in his mind told him he had a detour to make. He turned and sprinted into the daylight, a dark figure in the bright rays.

Gogran sat upon his huge chair, tearing at the meat that had been placed there. He didn't use the forks provided, just tore in with his strong teeth. He placed it down and wiped off his face with a rag, turning to go consult with an Orc messenger. But someone else was in the doorway.

A dark elf with gray hair and dark skin stood there, arms crossed. Even though Gogran was much taller and many times heavier, this elf showed power that even Gogran could feel. His hand went to his hammer but it was not there for he had strapped it off earlier.

But this stranger hadn't even touched his magnificent sword he had sheathed.

"Dark elf?" The Orc said confused.

"Yes." The dark elf said simply. "I am here to warn you of the folly you are making attacking us."

"Folly?" Gorgon said incredulously. "I see none."

"No?" The dark elf asked. "You do not see the folly of attacking a force you have not scouted or known how strong their forces were?"

The Orc growled but the elf held his ground.

"I am here to give you this warning, Orc," The elf continued. "That if you don't leave this place, you will get more than you bargained for."

Gogran growled lowly.

"Why have you come, elf?" Gogran roared. "To a place where you know there is no escape."

The elf merely smiled.

"Guards!" The Orc roared. The elf muttered a spell as two Orcs ran in. They saw the elf and charged, swinging their weapons, but they struck naught but air and ran through the illusionary elf. Slinking to the side, the real elf crept through the opening in the tent. Savon kept to the side and ran full out for the city.

Tapan patrolled to the left, his eyes searching the walls for any intruders. His sword swung as he walked, and his hand remained close to its handle. He passed another Imperial circling around the palace too and gave a salute. The Imperials saluted back and continued his route. Tapan moved quickly considering his heavy armor, but his gaze searched every area.

A flash caught his attention, and as he drew his sword, a figure landed right next to him. Tapan swung his sword at the intruder but halted as he realized it was

Savon.

"Savon, you're back!" The redguard exclaimed in his deep voice. "Will the dunmer assist us?"

Savon nodded.

"Upon my signal they will clear a path for us." He answered. Tapan nodded.

"Good." The dark skinned man said. "Then we can leave this confining place."

"How fare the women and children?" Savon asked. Tapan shrugged.

"As they have." He answered. "They remain in the palace awaiting our order to come with us."

Savon sighed, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on him. Tapan noticed and pointed to the wool cots under the tents.

"Go sleep." Tapan said seeing the dunmer's lack of energy. "We'll see battle soon."

Savon walked off, clapping a few men on the back on his way. Tapan watched him go and sighed. He turned back and kept patrolling. He would get no rest that day.

**Did you like it? You know how to tell me. R.E.V.I.E.W! Not as many reviews as last week, but i'm still happy with the tremendous amount of reviews before so thats one reason this chapter came up so quick. To those who continue to review thanks a bunch cause it really helps! If you're reading this and you've read all of the other chapters and you like the story, just let me know that you like it and you're reading.**

**Next chapter is probably about Sakov, but...You never know. As usual tell me who you want in the next chapter in your review. I can't guarantee (did I spell that right?) it will be them, but...it does influence my decision I would say. So yes, next chapter probably up in a week or so.**


	17. To Be a Gladiator

**Hello again! Suprised this chapter was done so soon? And it just so happens to be the longest one yet! I think this is my favorite chapter, just because I like how Sakov's part of the story is turning out. Thanks for reviewing as always and keep it up! Oh, and note, I do not think Afralon is a real place in Skyrim, I just made it up. **

Afralon Prison, Skyrim

Sakov kept a firm glance on the stone corridor, waiting again for the prison watch. It was better than looking at his cell, which was covered in filth, and more than once he had awoken to rats crawling around him.

He wore rags that itched and were as dirty as his cell. No, they were not being treated well.

Rotilan's cell was across the hall, but the mage didn't seem to have any of his energy left and he was slumped against the wall all day.

Sakov pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning with the ache it brought. He crawled over his scratchy cot to the barred door and shook it slightly.

"Rotilan." He said softly. Rotilan stayed slumped in the same position and Sakov panicked.

"Rotilan!" He said louder. The mage opened his crusty eyes, drawing them to Sakov's face.

"Sakov." He croaked. "Are you alright?"

"That's what I was going to ask you." Sakov returned. Rotilan coughed.

"Yeah, I'm alright." Rotilan said after a few seconds. "Just this, cell reeks and slime is everywhere."

Sakov nodded agreeing.

"Can you see Drizzon?" Sakov asked. Rotilan stretched his head to the side looking to the left.

"Yes," Rotilan said craning his neck. "Looks like he's sleeping."

Rotilan turned his head back to Sakov.

"Did you hear the commotion above last night?" He asked curiously. Sakov nodded grimly.

"It was our kin, I fear." Sakov said. "They were put in cells as well."

Rotilan cursed.

"Why are the Nord's doing this?" Rotilan asked. Sakov shrugged and leaned back against the filthy wall. Rotilan sighed and he too lay back in his former position. And darkness took them.

Morning

"Get up ye scum!" The Nord roared, accompanied by a loud banging noise. Sakov sat up startled. He found the source of the banging noise being a large pot the Nord was slamming against his cage.

"Get up worm!" The Nord yelled at him. Sakov groaned and stood on his unsteady feet. A faint dizzy feeling accompanied it from the lack of food and water. The Nord unlocked the cage and opened the door roughly. Sakov went through the door to join Rotilan. After a few seconds Drizzon joined them, but they had no time to talk as the Nord came back, herding them toward the door with a spear.

They went through a dirty pine door to arrive in an equally dirty hall. The noise was outrageous and it was crowded tight with other prisoners. As Sakov scanned the hall he made out some other dunmer and he breathed a sigh of relief. He got into a long line waiting for their food and drink, sighing. Why did they even come to these lands in the first place?

After fifteen minutes he got to the counter where Nord prison guards served gray slop onto prisoner's plates along with dirty looking water. Sakov took the tray without complaint and moved towards an empty table where Rotilan and Drizzon sat.

Rotilan moved his head over to Sakov.

"Should we try to escape?" he asked softly. Sakov looked around and shook his head.

"Too many guards," He said nodding his head to the sentries. "We're not armed. We'll have to wait."

Rotilan gave a defeated nod. Sakov turned to take some of his food when a large hand snatched his tray away. Without determining the person who took his food, he got to his feet and saw a Nord prisoner holding his tray high in the air.

"Ye want it elf?" The Nord asked. "Then come get it."

Sakov smiled slightly.

"What ye smilin' bout elf?" The Nord growled. Sakov swung his foot sideways, connecting with the Nord's head. The Nord groaned and Sakov snatched his tray back. The Nord, fire burning in his eyes, roared and leaped for Sakov, but Sakov suspected this and turned, extending his leg. His leg met the Nords stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Sakov shoved the Nord to the ground and sat down. Rotilan eyed the whole thing with a small smile.

"You sure get em' mad don't you?" He said. Sakov shook off the comment by taking a bite of the slop. Grimacing slightly at the taste, he took another forced bite followed by a sip of the dirty water.

Off to the side, the Nord arena manager had come down to see the new prisoners. He walked over to another commander leaning against the wall.

"Ye think any of these dark elves'll be good?" The manager asked. The commander looked around and pointed to Sakov.

"He sure will." The commander answered. "He just took down a Nord in about three seconds."

The manager smiled greedily.

"Good!" He said loudly. "I got somethin' planned that the Nords ain't gonna ferget for a while!"

The commander turned a questioning glance upon him.

"In the arena?" The commander asked. He manager laughed.

"Where else?" He answered. The commander snorted not doubting the manager's skill at making an entertaining match.

"Start assessing them soon," The manager said, turning to walk away. "I want the first match by the end of the week."

The commander nodded roughly and the manager walked from the room, pleased as ever.

Fifty minutes later

"Attention prisoners!" The commander yelled. The three elves looked up to see a caped guard holding up his hands. "Get up and follow me, otherwise ye can go right back to yer cell!"

Shrugging slightly, Sakov got to his feet. The other hundred prisoners, mostly Nords, got up too, and followed the commander. His rough leather boots barely making a noise, Sakov followed the throng that was now heading to the left through huge pine doors. They entered a stone hallway, but the commander turned to the right and walked down, passing other doors, but ending at another set of double pine doors. The commander opened them with a stone key, and motioned for the others to follow.

The group of prisoners jostled around but soon, everyone entered. The room was huge, not as big as the king's hall, but still huge. The walls were made of stone blocks, and adorning the walls were targets. Big and small, they were placed at different levels, many times near the ceiling. Around the room were padded dummies, worn from being hit, and wooden contraptions that tested ones ability with a bow, sword or magic. One would hit one side of the wood, and another of the four pieces would stick out to be hit. It allowed the user to improve accuracy and speed.

At a glance, Sakov now knew that they were not prisoners.

They were gladiators.

But they were not the only ones in the room. Other Nord gladiators worked on their skills, and as the prisoners entered, they jeered and laughed, especially when they saw the dark elves.

"Hey scrawny!" A large Nord yelled to Rotilan, who happened to be the thinnest of the elves. "Ye think ye can survive a few seconds in the arena?"

Rotilan flicked his hand, and the Nord tumbled onto the ground. As Rotilan moved away, Sakov heard him distinctively say, "Idiot."

As soon as the jeers died down, and all the prisoners were not moving, the commander moved off to the side and another Nord took his place. This Nord was only six and a half feet tall, but it didn't matter.

He was so thick and muscled that the prisoners didn't even notice his height. His hair was blond and tied back into strange braids that shook slightly as he walked in front of them. He wore leather armor that had its arms ripped off. His right eye seemed to be squinting because of a slash across it.

"Stand straight ye maggots!" He roared. The prisoners straightened. The Nord started to pace.

"I am Commander Rockfell. For the next few weeks, I'm yer mommy!" He roared. "If ye survive. Cause ye're gladiators now!"

Most of the prisoners whooped and roared, but most of the elves narrowed their eyes.

"If ye actually survive, then ye'll move up to bigger competition." Rockfell resumed. "But for now, all ye should be worryin bout' is surviving a day!

"Today ye'll be tested, see who's good, who's not. And if ye won't fight, yer opponent will beat the life out of ye! Now get in three lines! Hurry up!"

The prisoners scrambled to get into a line. When they were done, one of the lines was only dark elves.

"Dunmer rats!" Rockfelll roared. "Spread out into other lines!"

The dark elves walked into other lines, while Nords took the dunmer's spots, smiling confidently. Rockfell motioned to the side, and three hulking Nords took spots in front of the lines. Rockfell pointed to the wall where three huge crates lay filled with different padded swords, hammers, and axes.

"Go get one that suits yer style." Rockfell growled. "And quick!"

Sakov ran over, careful not to be run over by one of the huge Nords. He reached into the crate and grabbed a double blade padded sword. He tossed it from one hand to another testing its weight. While most of the elves picked out swords, the Nords chose huge battle-axes and hammers, and a few chose claymores and swords. Going back to their lines one by one, Rockfell kept his eye on the elf named Sakov. He had been told that this one had the potential to be good. When all the prisoners had assembled, the commander held up his hand.

"First person in each line, step forward!" He roared. Three Nord prisoners stepped forward, readying their padded weapons.

"Each person will fight these three gladiators," Rockfell said loudly pointing to the three Nords who had come from the side. "They're gonna fight ye, and I'll be judging ye. One at a time now. Go!"

The first prisoner in line had picked a hammer that's weight had been adjusted so it would not kill. The prisoner roared and jumped forward at the gladiator. The first Nord gladiator, who had a battle-axe, set his feet and axe, and the bad swing by the prisoner bounced off it. The gladiator reversed the parry and brought the axe to the Nord prisoner's neck.

"Green!" Rockfell yelled, referring to the lowest gladiator class. Looking disgruntled, the prisoner walked off to the end of the room. The next prisoner stepped up to the second gladiator. This prisoner wielded a one handed axe, and swung it backhand at the gladiator. The warhammer-armed gladiator swung his hammer and crashed it against the axe nearly taking it from the prisoners grasp. The prisoner held on though, and parried a swing from the hammer. The prisoner came in swinging hard. The gladiator reversed his grip and tore the axe from the prisoner's hand.

"Yellow!" Rockfell roared referring to the middle class. The prisoner walked to another part of the room where yellow gladiators trained. And it went on. One by one prisoners were sent into green, yellow and the second highest class blue, but not the highest, red. The dark elves, who were trained warriors generally ended up in blue, but none had gotten red. The line had thinned, and only five remained, Sakov, Rotilan, Drizzon, and two Nords.

Rotilan stepped up holding a padded short sword. The first axe-wielding gladiator rushed up to attack, thinking Rotilan to be weak. But Rotilan easily parried the blow, and struck out with his sword. The Nord turned the handle to deflect the blow, but Rotilan anticipated the move and rushed his sword to the Nord's legs. The Nord turned and Rotilan's sword hit the Nord's right leg but he slammed the end of the axe into Rotilan's head pushing him back. Rotilan stopped and turned to Rockfell.

"Red!" Rockfell roared. Rotilan walked off to the right but stopped and turned to watch his two companions fight.

Drizzon stepped forth, longsword swinging. The hammer wielding Nord swung out and pushed the blade away. Thinking to be quicker, the Nord swung his hammer overhand to hit Drizzon. But Drizzon's foot met the Nord's chest, halting the attack. Drizzon thrust his sword forward to finish the fight, but the gladiator brought the end of his hammer to block. Drizzon angled his sword up, but the Nord met the attack, pressing his hammer down. Drizzon ducked a forehand swing, and he jumped in, sword meeting the gladiator's chest.

"Red!" Rockfell yelled after a second. Drizzon moved off as Sakov moved in to face the last gladiator, the one none had beaten. This gladiator wielded a one handed sword that had already defeated all the others. Sakov moved in, already on the offensive. A quick backhand from Sakov pressed the Nord back into defensive, and Sakov moved in again. A quick uppercut with his sword brought the Nord up high, but Sakov reversed his direction, and with a quick slam of Sakov's sword the Nord's sword went flying out of his hand, and Sakov's sword tip rested on the Nord's throat.

"Red!" Rockfell said, still in disbelief that one of his best fighters had been dispatched so easily. Sakov walked to the side to join Drizzon and Rotilan. As it just so happened, the next Nord got into red as well. The last Nord got into yellow after surviving for nearly thirty seconds, but not showing much skill. Rockfell was very impressed with the skill he had been delivered, but he would not show it.

"New Gladiators!" He roared. "Welcome to the arena!"

Sakov looked around at the other Nords who were roaring in delight.

"Train hard, for yer life depends on it!" Rockfell roared again. And he walked to a stone staircase at the end of the room and walked up to the balcony so he could watch the new combatants from up high. For each group of prisoners, one gladiator came forth from their training to train the new combatants. And the day wore on. Fight after fight after fight. It was not as though Sakov was not used to such training, but he felt no challenge. Even against Drizzon and Rotilan, their fights only lasted a minute or less.

Finally, at ten o'clock, they were dismissed to their new chambers, which were no longer cells, but actual beds. After their training, gladiators were required to bathe in a rocky room filled a quarter way with water that felt more like ice. After his bath, Sakov found new clothes piled up for the combatants. The shirt was a mix of black and brown, half cotton and leather, leather on parts like the shoulders and chest, and sleeveless. To wear on their biceps were leather bracers that buckled on the back as well as leather bracers for their wrists. The pants were similar to the shirt, except almost all of it was leather, as were the boots. Feeling cleaner and less itchy, Sakov made his way back to the red room where Rotilan and Drizzon were. The rooms were small, but luckily the red room wasn't crowded. The only ones to occupy it were the three elves, the Nord who was accepted, and three other Nords.

The beds were simple bunks, and Sakov ended up with the lower one near the door. As the oil lamp died, Sakov drifted off to sleep with images of death.

5:00 A.M.

A loud bell awoke the combatants of the red room that sounded from down the hall. Sakov woke up, stretching and cracking his knuckles. He got up from his bed and said to a Nord who was leaving the room,

"Wait."

The Nord turned back, an angry expression on his face.

"What?" He said bluntly.

"Where do we go?" asked Sakov. The Nord snorted.

"To eat." The Nord put an ugly expression on his face. "And ye listen here. I ain't yer little friend. The only reason I didn't strangle ye during the night is cause Rockfell is soft on other races and it's against our rules. But don't think I like ye, cause if we meet in the arena, yer dead."

Leaving Sakov with a confused expression on his face, the Nord trudged from the room. Sakov grabbed his leather bicep bracers and his wrist bracers, slipping them on over his muscled arms.

This is going to be a tough few weeks, he thought. He was already sick of the treatment they were receiving, but shook off the issue by following Rotilan down the hall. The room where they ate was the same dirty room as before with the same food, except now they got once frozen bread with their meal. Content with the meal, Sakov sat and started to eat, already feeling healthier since the past day in the cell.

Drizzon turned to Sakov and nudged him.

"Sentries are still there." He said softly. "Think we should try to escape today?"

Rotilan leaned in, waiting for Sakov's answer. Sakov sighed, tired of making the decisions.

"I don't think we could." He answered after a few chews of bread. "I don't think it's worth being killed. And besides, we don't have weapons, yet."

The two other elves nodded, taking his decision without complaint. It made Sakov feel uncomfortable, knowing that his two friends agreed to almost all he thought. And why was that, he wondered. They were both older, Drizzon by ten years and Rotilan by twenty-three. He was only twenty six. Why did they look up to him? He stared out over the group of eating gladiators, still wondering. He put it out of his mind, taking a big bite of the gray slop followed with a sip of water.

An hour later

The new weapons felt good in his hands. The two blades were shorter than his longsword and curved at the end slightly, one side being sharp unlike his usual double bladed sword. Today the gladiators were being put through training with new weapons, and Sakov had been given two scimitars. These were real blades, but they were forced to put a meshed cover over the blade to stop injuries.

Sakov moved forward to fight against Drizzon who was using a claymore. Sakov's first scimitar parried Drizzon's downward cut, while the other moved to the side to strike against Drizzon's now exposed side. Drizzon twisted back awkwardly to avoid the hit, but Sakov's second scimitar still nicked his side. Drizzon swept the claymore towards Sakov, but Sakov turned the claymore away with his left scimitar, while the other came in downwards. Drizzon turned the handle to block the downward cut, but in doing so released Sakov's left hand scimitar, which Sakov brought to Drizzon's neck.

Sakov was not surprised that he had caught on to using two hands independently in combat, for in elite combat school back in Morrowind, he had learned to use two double bladed shortswords, so now all he had to change was not to use the dull side to attack, though that side could still bring blood.

Rockfell, who had been watching from the side, nodded his approval. The elf was a natural. And even though he was living in a society against other races, he was beginning to like the elf. But not enough not to roar at him when he made a mistake.

Drizzon smiled slightly, still getting used to the claymore, and took a step back.

"My turn." Someone said. Sakov turned to see the red ranked Nord that had been accepted the day before.

"Alright." Sakov said. The Nord was not using his usual battle-axe, but like Drizzon, a claymore. Technically, the technique was not much different than a battle-axe, but there were some changes. The Nord roared and charged in, swinging the claymore in a devastating backhand, hoping to overwhelm the skilled elf. But Sakov turned his left hand scimitar and slammed it against the claymore, guiding it to the side. As Sakov came in with his other scimitar, the Nord broke his claymore free and attacked overhand. Sakov was able to pull back just in time, catching the claymore in a double cross with his scimitars. He separated the scimitars with force, pushing the claymore back, and thrust his right hand scimitar at the Nord's chest. The blade struck true, and the Nord grunted from the blow that was sure to bring a bruise. Sakov breathed out, swinging the blades in a circle.

Rockfell nodded again. Every match the elf seemed to improve. He stood up.

"Everyone get a water break!" He yelled to the attentive fighters. "And do it quick!"

The combatants sheathed their weapons and walked over to a built in fountain that was propelled by an underground river, for both the training rooms and sleeping rooms were underground, beneath the tower.

Sakov waited in line as the fighters took long sips of water from the fountain. Sakov looked behind him and saw Rotilan walking over, a wide smile on his face, because of his duel.

For the past hour, he had been dueling another red ranked combatant, a Nord, who he had taken delight in cracking over the head over and over, with his mesh covered one handed axe. Sakov bent to drink, and the cool water rushed down his throat, easing his thirst. As he walked back, his mind strayed to his mother and father. They must be worried, he thought.

"I'll get back home, I swear." He whispered. And he drew his scimitars, feeling more strength than before.

10:00 P.M.

"Time to stop!" Rockfell roared. Sakov halted his scimitars against the wooden trainer, and it swayed back and forth.

"Time to get yerselves washed and ready, cause tomorrow's gonna be harder than ever!" He continued. Sweating hard, Sakov sheathed his two swords and walked to the door that marked the red quarters.

Lying in bed, after bathing and washing his clothes, he lay in bed, thinking. But sleep could not be denied after the hard day, and it came as a dark sheet, spreading over his mind.

He saw Savon, fighting Orcs and Nords, leading a group of Imperials. He heard him say something had gone wrong, and then Savon was pierced in the stomach by a spear. Orcs roars blocked out the rest, drowning Sakov in feelings of dread and despair.

And Sakov awoke, breathing hard. What had happened? Just a dream, he thought to himself. But Sakov could not stem the flow of uneasiness welling up inside of him as he fell back asleep.

**In your review, tell me what you think if you want. In your review, as always, try to tell me what you liked and didn't like, and some things you think would be cool. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, because I wrote almost this whole chapter today, so you never know, it could be up tomorrow or within the next week. Probably not tomorrow, but you never know. Reviews always help. : )**


	18. Strike of Darkness

**Here we are again. Welcome to readers, hope you're enjoying the story. This chapter's about Twal and Benzyl. I think it is as long as the last one, but I'm not sure. **

Each step brought another ache to his arms. The sewers were more of a maze than he thought, and carrying another made it harder.

Benzyl's leather boots were soaked with grime and water from splashing in the murky puddles. He had been carrying Twal for more than three hours, and he felt on the verge of collapsing. But he would not put Twal's life in jeopardy. Water sloshed around his boots, and the cold water numbed his feet.

Twal's breath was coming in short bursts now, and after fighting the wraith, his fever was worse than ever. Benzyl had to find a way out. He turned another corner and groaned. He had been here before.

Or had he? As he looked through the darkness he saw a thin structure. He came closer, squinting. Then it came to him. It was a ladder. All weariness forgotten, he ran over, ignoring a burning in his arms. If someone had been watching, they would have only seen Benzyl because of his worn red robe, for his skin was as black as the night. Careful not to fall in the dark water, he treaded lightly around it. It was indeed a ladder, made of iron. He placed his foot on the first rung tentatively, testing to see if it was sturdy. When it held, he tossed Twal on his back and started to climb, grunting occasionally when Twal started to fall and he had to heave him up again.

The climb that would take most only thirty seconds, took Benzyl almost two minutes. As he reached the top, he punched the trapdoor open and shoved Twal out, following him quickly. He climbed out, feeling a draft of warmer air meet him. He looked up and saw ten spears being pointed at his head. Without identifying the attackers, Benzyl raised his hands in the air. As he focused he identified the spear wielders as Ordinators, guards with gold spiked armor and helmets with a large feather pointing from the top.

"Identify yourself," One growled, bringing their spear closer. "Or you're dead."

"I'm Benzyl," Benzyl said quickly. "This is Twal, we're from the Morag Tong."

The Ordinator took off his helmet, revealing a gray blue face. He was taller than the others standing at six and three inches, and Benzyl could tell he was very muscular.

"Morag Tong?" He asked. "We have not heard from you for weeks! We thought you all dead!"

"Careful Varoc." Another Ordinator warned. "He could be lying."

Varoc, the one without the helmet pointed to Twal.

"You think he'd lie when that ones life is in peril?" Varoc asked. The other Ordinator, Totan, stamped his foot.

"This is exactly the sort of thing the Brotherhood would try to do to get near us!" Totan yelled. "Or have you forgotten last week?"

The week previous, three beggars emerged from the sewers, asking for shelter. The guards had been kind and let them have a place to sleep. That night the three so called beggars assassinated all in the area, a devastating loss. Their massacre continued until Varoc himself killed the three Dark Brotherhood members.

"Of course I haven't forgotten last week!" Varoc roared. "I killed them! But I'm captain of this group. And I'm not letting him die."

Totan threw up his hands in frustration, turning the other way. Varoc raised his hand in a two-fingered motion, and his squad lowered their spears. Varoc offered Benzyl a hand, pulling him up easily. Benzyl went to pick up Twal, but Varoc picked him up first, easily hoisting him over his shoulder.

"Whatever the others say," Varoc said. "You are welcome here. Lets get Twal to a healer, fast."

Without waiting, Varoc jogged off up the sandstone steps to the lower waterworks, not slowing. Benzyl followed, but had a hard time keeping up with Varoc's long strides. The other Ordinators held their positions, not giving the Dark Brotherhood any opportunities.

After reaching the waterworks, Benzyl and Varoc went upwards still to the main level. They passed many merchants, and most became frightened when they saw the injured elf. They had been afraid ever since the Dark Brotherhood attack. They entered a small building with different plants and ingredients scattered around the floor. The room smelled of strange spices and herbs, and in fact there were many of these on nearby shelves. An old dunmer woman came striding out from another room with different jars in her hand. She glanced over at the visitors and rushed into another room. A couple seconds later she walked out empty-handed.

"Sorry for the wait, there are many injured after the attack last week," She said softly.

"It's fine, but we need help fast, he is sick and very weak." Benzyl put in. The woman looked up at Twal who was slumped across Varoc's shoulder.

"This way if you will." The healer led them to a small room with cots every few feet, many of which were filled with sick or bloody patients. The old women directed them to a cot in the back of the room were Varoc laid Twal down. The old women bent down to inspect Twal and then rushed out of the room. A short while later she came back with some jars filled with spices and herbs and put them on a table next to Twal. Another healer came out of the back room, handing a glass of water to the old healer, and continuing on to treat the other patients. The old healer added water to one glass of herbs, and swirled it around.

She forced some down Twal's throat, and Twal twitched slightly. Varoc watched from the side, worry evident in his eyes.

"Will he live?" Benzyl asked.

She looked up from her work.

"Only time will tell. But he needs rest." She said softly. "I am going to ask you to leave the room though. We can't have any unknown diseases brought in."

Varoc nodded and clapped Benzyl on the shoulder.

"He'll be fine." Varoc said, but Benzyl could tell he was not confident in those words. "Come, I will show you to the Ordinator barracks where you can stay until your friend is well again."

Benzyl nodded, watching his friend's forced breaths. Benzyl shook himself and turned to Varoc.

"Let us go." He said, trying to sound confident. Varoc nodded and turned to the healer.

"We shall be back tomorrow." He said to her. The healer nodded, not taking her eyes off her patient. Varoc led the way through the many groaning patients and back out into the main plaza where dunmer went about their business, but they were always walking fast, knowing the dangers that surrounded them. Varoc led the way, spear strapped to his back along with two swords on his belt. He cut an imposing figure with his blue cape on his back and his ridged armor. Benzyl followed with a small limp he had acquired when fighting the wraith. The dunmer citizens eyed him with respect, especially since he had killed all three Dark Brotherhood fighters single-handedly. And seeing Varoc, Benzyl didn't doubt his battle prowess. Varoc continued through the plaza, and with a sign to the Ordinators guarding the huge door leading to the city, the Ordinator guards heaved open the heavy doors.

"Captain." One said, saluting.

"As you were soldier." Varoc said, saluting back. The soldier nodded and stood tall. Varoc and Benzyl walked out into the day. The sky was dark gray; a storm was coming. Varoc continued on, knowing exactly the route they needed to go. They turned into a tunnel angling down to a lower level, keeping a fast pace. The different sections of Vivec rose up like giants; their tops reaching high into the sky and bathing the citizens in dark shadows.

"It's been this way for a week now," Varoc said gravelly. "The sky. Even at the point of the day, it's been as dark as a storm."

"Why?" Benzyl asked. Varoc shrugged.

"No one has an idea." Varoc answered. "But it makes people scared."

Benzyl could imagine that. Especially in a time of fear. Varoc led him to the temple district, to a building on the right made of sandstone.

"The Hall of Justice." Varoc said, waving his arm to the building. Benzyl nodded, having been there already. Varoc clasped the handle of the thick door and pulled it open. The hallway they entered ran for about a hundred meters, and many hallways broke off from it. They walked down about thirty meters before they took a right up some stairs. They stopped at the first door, and Varoc took out a key and unlocked the door.

They entered a clean room with three beds and cupboards, and a hallway leading to a training room in back.

"Make yourself at home." He said, turning to Benzyl. "If you want, once you feel better, you're free to use the training room."

Benzyl looked around.

"Thanks for helping us." Benzyl said. Varoc chuckled.

"Just don't kill me in my sleep." He said jokingly. Benzyl shook his head quickly, but then realized it was a joke. Benzyl returned the laugh half-heartedly. Varoc turned and swept down the hallway to the training room, leaving Benzyl standing in the middle of the room. Turning to the bed, he climbed in, thinking he needed the rest. Within the minute, he dozed off.

Varoc walked in back and took his spear from its leather holder and tossed it to the side. He walked to the padded dummy, drawing his two longswords. He measured his distance, and sprang out, swinging both blades in at the dummy's neck. He turned back stabbing at the dummy's head while turning with the other blade, swinging it through where the jaw would have been. He attacked again; this time swinging one blade while the other came in slashing at the dummy's leg. The blades connected solid, and he darted forward thrusting and slashing. As he attacked, he noticed something. It was almost as if he felt another presence. Upon his next attack, he spun readying his blade to attack behind him. Something dark ran to the left, and Varoc swung his left blade. The blade crashed against steel, and he turned to straighten out.

A dagger had met his sword, wielded by a dark robed figure. The figure wore a hood that blocked its feature in a mask of darkness.

"Who are you?" Varoc growled. The figure responded by flipping a dagger with its other hand towards Varoc's chest. Varoc blocked with his right blade, halting the attack. He slammed his blades out, sending the figure crashing against the dummy.

"I asked you your name!" Varoc yelled.

"The Dark Brotherhood does not forget, captain of the guard." The figure hissed. Varoc roared, charging in on the figure. The figure threw a dagger at Varoc and rolled to the left away from Varoc's slashing blades.

Varoc turned the dagger away, and came in again, blades slashing toward the assassin's head. The assassin blocked with a cruel edged blade, halting the furious attack. Varoc backed off for a second before coming in another time. He attacked left and right, but the assassin kept up, even managing to get a swing of his own in. The assassin pressed Varoc's left blade away and kicked him in the chest, knocking Varoc back. The assassin threw another blade, which Varoc was just able to dodge by moving his head to the right. Varoc growled and jumped in. His blades slashed from both directions, and the assassin drew another dagger to block. With his other blade, the assassin pushed off Varoc's right blade and slammed the pommel into his shoulder. Varoc took a sharp intake of breath and crashed in to attack. He pressed the assassin's blade to the side with his left blade, and stabbed at the assassin's chest with his right. The assassin pushed himself back, abandoning his blade, but Varoc still was able to nick him on the chest. The assassin drew another dagger, but Varoc was already there, swinging hard. The assassin couldn't block both blades, and one blade took his arm. The assassin cursed and ran for the door, but Varoc launched his right hand blade at the assassin's back. The blade struck true, bringing the assassin to the ground dead.

Varoc took his blade out of the assassin's back, checking to make sure he was dead. After feeling no pulse, Varoc went into a low crouch, making his way into the other room, sword ready. But no one was there. He searched every corner, every shadow, but no one was there.

He alerted the guard, telling them to be on the lookout, and for the next twelve hours, the guards searched and advised citizens to their homes. They ran through the districts, searching every building that they could. But their search proved useless, even with Varoc leading the group. Either there was no one there, or the assassins would not dare to attack a fully armed group of Ordinators.

Needing the rest, Varoc went back to his quarters to find Benzyl asleep. He removed his armor, and lay down, keeping his sword next to him.

Vivec City, Foreign Quarter

2:00 A.M.

They crept from up the ladder like shadows, weapons poised to kill. The first figure pushed open the trapdoor, signaling to a dark figure below. An arrow in the neck killed the alert Ordinator, and the other shadows crept out, killing the three dozing guards in seconds. None had screamed, none knew the Dark Brotherhood was coming. They climbed the stairs, taking an offensive arrow shape formation. An Ordinator guarded the steps, oblivious to the ten figures coming up the stairs. A knife in the head got his attention, bringing him crashing down the steps, but the assassins were already past.

The leader pushed the door open lightly, swinging the blade into the guard's neck. They went on, keeping low. Four more Ordinators fell before they went into the night.

"Form up." The leader hissed. "We strike the Hall of Justice."

The others nodded, and two leaped up onto the layer above them, flanking their movements.

One of them drew back a poison tipped arrow, aiming down at an Ordinator around the Brotherhood's path. The arrow sped through the dark, killing the guard instantly.

The eight assassins below reached the edge between the Temple District and the district on which they stood, and each one simultaneously took out a bow. They drew back arrows with rope attached to the end and released. The arrows sped across the gap and the special tips sunk into the sandstone wall. Grabbing the ropes, the eight assassins swung across landing lightly on the other side.

The two assassins flanking the group took the harder job of clearing the bridge between the two districts. One sent a knife flying at one of the four guards, an arrow following less than a second later. Another knife and arrow were sent as the others hit, and all the Ordinators fell. The assassins leaped down on the bridge, continuing their flank.

The eight assassins crept behind a stone wall, sending a dart flying as an Ordinator came near. They rolled across to the entrance off the hall, the flanking assassins keeping watch. The leader pushed open the door, and without a pause, went into combat. Ten Ordinators were in the hall, and two fell to the leaders attack. The other eight came in with weapons, attacking. Three more Ordinators fell to ranged attack, but an Ordinator took an assassin out with a spear.

Back in his room, Varoc awoke to the sound of battle, his swords coming to his hands almost instantly. His put his armor and spear on and shook Benzyl.

"Assassins, arm yourself!" He yelled. Benzyl jumped up, shaking off his sleepiness and grabbing a bow.

Varoc was already in the hall, sprinting to the main level. Two arrows soared his way, but he dodged one and knocked away the other. Four Ordinators remained, in full combat with the assassins, who had only lost three out of ten. Varoc roared and charged, launching his spear into the heart of the leader. The leader fell back, and crashed to the ground. Varoc jumped into the throng, blades swinging. One blade knocked away a sword, while the other brought down an assassin. He heard another yell and saw Benzyl back in the hallway with his bow, anger etched on his features. He let go an arrow, and it took down an assassin, leaving four. But three of the remaining Ordinators fell, leaving three against four.

Varoc turned, locking his blades against two others. He slammed them outwards, bringing the assassins swords away, and one of them fell to another of Benzyl's arrows. Varoc took down the other as the Ordinator next to him fell to a throwing star. Benzyl worked as fast as he could, sending another arrow at an assassin. But the assassin dodged and threw a knife at him, and it cut Benzyl across the arm. Benzyl growled off the pain and shot another arrow, this time hitting his mark.

Varoc squared off against the final assassin, faking a move to the left and coming in hard on his right. He led his sword into a thrust, sending the assassin into a hurried parry, but could not dodge the swing from Varoc's other blade.

Varoc immediately knelt down to check to see if any of his comrades lived. But none did. He and Benzyl were the only survivors.

"Curse you Dark Brotherhood." He shot under his breath. He motioned to Benzyl.

"Let's scout the district and alert the guard." He yelled to him. Benzyl nodded and ran after Varoc. As soon as Varoc got outside, a scene of horror met his eyes. All the guards, were dead.

Varoc ran to them, seeing if they really were. But he felt no pulse. He ran to the left, turning the corner, but the guard there was murdered too.

That night, he, Benzyl, and the Ordinators from the other districts, searched the region and totaled the amount dead to be twenty-three.

"Those scum will pay for this!" One Ordinator growled, shoving his spear into the stone.

"They will," Varoc agreed. "But not yet. Now we have got to guard the passages from the sewers to the canal works extra carefully, double the numbers. I'm not letting them do this again."

The other elves nodded, and started off to resume their guard. Benzyl walked fast and came to Varoc's left side.

"It's good that you're not attacking yet, we will need-," But Varoc cut him off.

"Twal, yes? I thought as much." Varoc interrupted. "Besides, it would not be fair for him not to witness their fall. The Brotherhood will probably be expecting an attack now, and if we attacked, we would surely be slaughtered. For now, come with me to the canal works. I don't think it is safe in the Hall of Justice any longer."

Benzyl agreed and followed Varoc down a passageway to the canal works. They took a deserted route along a dark corridor, where they had found some of the dead Ordinators before. They took a stairway down, and the sound of water came to their ears. They made their way to the trapdoor, where they found four more dead Ordinators lying sprawled across the ground.

"No!" Varoc roared angrily. Benzyl cursed, slamming his fist against the wall.

"I hate to ask this of you Benzyl." Varoc started. "But I don't think it's safe for only me to keep watch."

"Of course." Benzyl agreed. "I will not doze."

Varoc thanked him, and drew his swords, standing to the side of the trap door that led to the sewers. And there they waited.

6:00 A.M.

Healing Chambers

He felt something in his leg. Not the blood drained feeling, but almost like a slight tingling. Twal looked down his bed and tried to move his leg. The covers shifted slightly, and he lay back, taking a deep breath. He moved his arms and grabbed a glass of water, spilling some on his new wool shirt as he sipped.

He stretched his arms, and felt the same tingling in his legs again. He yawned, and heard a clang. The old healer scurried into the room, a jar of mixed herbs and water in her hand. She pushed Twal back and forced the mix into his mouth, while he gagged.

"I'm okay!" Twal choked. The healer shot him an annoyed look.

"Until you're out of here, I will be the judge of that!" She huffed. Twal coughed, and she shoved him back.

"You will not exert yourself." She warned. Twal took a deep breath and nodded. She left, and he realized some of the herbs must have been to ease him to sleep, for a few minutes later he was asleep. He dreamed of death and darkness, but then awoke to someone calling his name. His eyes snapped open, and rested on two weary looking elves at the foot of his bed.

"Twal." Benzyl sighed in relief. "You're okay."

Twal nodded and looked to Varoc.

"Who is this?" He asked, and Varoc smiled slightly.

"I am Varoc, leader of the Ordinators," He started. "And one who desires revenge against the same people you do."

"The Dark Brotherhood?" Twal questioned. Varoc nodded, filling him in on the events that he had slept through. When he finished, Twal's face was grim.

"They're advancing." He said softly. "They're weakening our structure for their main attack."

Varoc nodded, agreeing.

"We're waiting for you Twal." He said. "Then we attack."

Twal raised his eyebrows but before he could speak, Benzyl jumped in.

"You know the sewers better than any," Benzyl said quickly. "You're a skilled fighter, and we don't have many left, and you should have the right to repay them."

Twal sunk back down in his bed.

"But that could take another week until I'm fully healed," Twal said lowly. "And another attack could take out a quarter of your attack force."

Varoc nodded.

"But we will guard more attentively and efficiently," Varoc put in. "And besides, it's not just that we're waiting for you. The Brotherhood will expect an attack now, but in a week we have the aspect of surprise."

Twal, with nothing to argue, put his head back on his pillow.

"You rest now Twal," Benzyl said. "We should go back and guard."

Twal nodded his head slowly, and closed his eyes. Varoc and Benzyl turned and walked from the room, careful not to awake any of the patients. They walked through the door and into the crowded plaza full with moving elves.

Varoc kept up a quick pace, but he was wrestling with his own thoughts. Should they attack the assassin base? What if they failed? Then the people of Vivec would be defenseless. A flash of a dead Ordinator came into his head. No, they would attack. They had to.

**Done? OK good. How did you like the chapter? Writing it, it wasn't my all time favorite, but I still liked it. What did you think? Tell me this and more in your review, (if you leave one which I hope you do). Next chapter isn't started, but I am thinking it will be about Savon and Tapan. I think for now the pattern for the chapters will go: Sakov, Benzyl, Savon. So, please review and tell me what you liked and even if you didn't like something about it.**


	19. The Two Telvanni

**Hope you like the chapter! **

Balmora, Morrowind

The elf walked through the streets, holding his head high in a superior way, avoiding the eyes of other elves, as if those around him weren't worthy of his glance. In turn, commoners dared not look him in the eye, partly because two guards marched next to him.

The elf was Councilor Kothen, the representative of the inner house of Talgo, one of the inner houses of the Telvanni. He, like most Telvanni, was a wizard, a fool, if there ever was one. His guards too were Telvanni; the male guard carried a crossbow and axe, but the female guard carried only a shortsword, followed by her ability to conjure up a huge lightning bolt at will.

Kothen wore a flowing green robe with the emblem of Talgo, a split in half rock, representing the split sides of the inner house. One side was wizards as customary for the Telvanni, but the other half were fighters, the male guard happening to be on that side.

Kothen swept past the fighters guild, continuing on past the clothing shop. His long gray hair swept to the side as he turned and ascended a stone stairway to the Hlallu square. His eyes scanned the four buildings, until he found his destination; the building to the front, the council chambers.

He pushed open the heavy door, one guard staying with him while the other stayed at the door. A nervous looking elf stood in his way, behind him a set of stairs.

"If you will go up the stairs there," The nervous dunmer said to Kothen. "You will find the council room."

Kothen looked down at him and sneered, his long pointy nose crinkling.

"I have been here before," He snapped. "Keep your directions for someone else."

He stepped around the dunmer, and walked to the stairway, his mage guard stopping. He ascended the steps briskly in the manner of someone who wants to get something important done quickly. Five of the eight councilors that were attend were seated quietly, one being the council leader himself.

"Ah, Kothen." The leader wheezed. "It is good you are here."

"I couldn't miss this for the world." Kothen answered sarcastically, but the leader didn't catch it.

"It is important." The leader agreed. "Now sit."

Muttering under his breath, Kothen moved to an empty chair and sat idly, even conjured a flame in his hand despite the other five councilor's glares. After an hour, the two other councilors arrived, one of Telvanni, and the other of Redoran. The old leader stood.

"Good. Very good." He huffed. "Before we progress to the decision of importance, does anyone have any urgent news to report?"

No one said anything.

"Nothing?" He asked. "Good. Now as you all know, the threat of the Dark Brotherhood has changed our meeting spot. Sort of a hassle for the Telvanni." He added as if in an afterthought.

"You bet." Kothen muttered angrily.

"Not long ago, we sent a team of elves to Skyrim to converse with the Nords." The leader said sharply. "Then, not long after they leave, we hear of the Nord's treachery to destroy the Imperials! We could not leave a helpless race to die."

A few councilors nodded, agreeing.

"But now, what of the elves we sent to Skyrim?" He continued, looking around at the councilors. "We have avoided the issue, but it must be discussed. Yes, councilor Rafaen?" He said to the other Telvanni councilor who had stood.

"My opinion is," Rafaen said. "We only sent a few elves. We can sacrifice them for the greater good. Besides, they're probably dead. The King would not let them live when he heard that the dunmer have come to aid the Imperials."

A female fighter and councilor of house Redoran stood.

"But no, I disagree." The Redoran councilor put in. "The King likes entertainment; he would not have them executed! He would rather have them die in a way that the rest of Skyrim would remember for years! I believe that some are alive. We cannot leave them to die later!"

The councilors broke out in argument, something that had not happened in a long time. The issue seemed to be evenly split, one side agreeing they should not leave the elves to die, while the others thought that they shouldn't.

"Stop!" The old leader cried out. "This is not discussion. We will not further the issue this way. Councilor Kothen, what do you think?"

All eyes turned to Kothen, but Kothen hardly shrunk back, just sat there lazily.

"What do I think?" He hissed. "I think this subject is a waste of time, that's what I think! Try to imagine getting the elves out! It would require hundreds, no, thousands of trained soldiers, something we cannot supply at the time. We are talking about a few elves." He continued. "More elves would be lost bringing them back, if the team of elves are even alive!"

The room went silent. The old leader finally was able to slowly return to his senses.

"Well…" He said uncertainly. "You have made some good points that we will consider."

Kothen stood.

"I no longer am needed here, I told you what I thought." He said loudly. "And I have already been here too long!"

He turned and walked from the room. The other Telvanni councilor, Rafaen, stood as well and left leaving the council with only six.

Kothen hurried down the steps, his mage guard picking up on his flank. Rafaen hurried up to him as Kothen walked through the door into the chilly air outside, the other guard taking his other side.

"A waste of time." Kothen muttered again.

"Yes." Rafaen agreed, only because he was afraid what would happen if he disagreed. They walked through the square for several seconds in silence, each brooding on the council meeting. When they started to descend the steps into a more crowded area, the male guard came closer, crossbow ready for any sign of trouble. The female mage levitated into the air, scanning the area for any attackers and preparing a devastating bolt for any that would think of confronting Kothen.

Naturally the citizens cleared a path, not wanting to tangle with the dangerous Telvanni. Kothen never slowed, and Rafaen had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

"Do you head home?" Rafaen asked once they had made it to the bridges crossing to the other section of the city that was cut in half by a river.

"Yes." Kothen answered. "But I am traveling to Sadrith Mora first."

He left the statement hang in the air, not explaining, as usual.

"Sadrith Mora?" Rafaen questioned. Kothen nodded.

"I am going to the Mages guild where I left my staff in their possession." Kothen said without emotion. Not many knew it, but the staff was Kothen's most prized possession. It had been given to him by the leader of the Telvanni, who now was almost upon his fourth century of life. The staff earned Kothen a large measure of respect as well, being it could rain down a mass of fire, frost and lightning upon any he wished. Rafaen didn't question any further, leaving the cranky councilor be.

The mage guard descended from the air, moving to speak with the group.

"No one follows you." She said to Kothen.

"Thank you." Kothen said, showing respect for her skill in battle, skills that he himself could not match. She nodded, and flew once again into the air to shadow the silt strider that Kothen would be boarding. Kothen walked up the steep steps to the strider, looking out over the city. How different this was from his home.

In the eastern lands of the Telvanni, almost all of the buildings were only accessible by levitating. Great vines and roots that also displayed an elaborate beauty held up their cities. Here though, everything was plain, made of rock, and loud. The guards patrolled the streets arresting and keeping the city from falling into disarray.

In the lands of Telvanni, guards only were there to protect leaders and to keep everyone confident.

Kothen turned to the elf running the silt strider.

"How much for a trip to Gnisis?" He asked.

"Twenty gold." The elf answered. Kothen tossed the dunmer two ten gold pieces, and climbed aboard, followed by Rafaen who handed the driver two more ten pieces. He climbed up following Kothen's guard.

"You're coming?" Kothen asked. Rafaen shrugged.

"Why not?"

Kothen shook his head slightly and moved to an indent to sit on, followed by the two other dunmer. The driver awakened the huge creature, and it stretched its huge legs, propelling them forward, with the mage shadowing their movements. Kothen looked back at the diminishing city, not looking forward to his next visit. The strider kept a fast pace, and soon they were past the border of Balmora. Rafaen sat uncomfortably on a sloped indent while searching the countryside.

The strider took them down into a river surrounded by cliffs, making huge splashes with each step. He craned his neck and saw a group of tribesman camping past the cliff, their deerskin tents drifting slightly in the breeze. One of the women in the tribe who was carving a spear looked up at the passing strider. She beckoned an elf that hurried over, watching the huge creature lumber past. This tribe was fairly new to these lands; a few years at the most. They had seen this spectacle many times, but it still entertained them, especially the young ones.

But then it was gone, stomping to the north.

Kothen closed his eyes, not at all as interested as Rafaen. Compared to most Telvanni, Rafaen was soft and weak. To survive in the harsh culture, you couldn't trust anyone, for lying was a part of living in the east.

The trip coasted by, bringing them past cliffs, gullies, forests and mountains, until the silt strider reached another river. It scaled the rough cliff, grappling onto indents in the rock, and passed over. Over the cliff lay Gnisis, a fairly unpopulated town. The buildings were similar to Ald-Ruhn, with the architecture flowing and almost always made of rock.

Dotting the town were many stands with sellers bragging to commoners of their goods. The guards, though there were not many, kept up constant patrol.

Their strider stopped at a wooden platform, and Kothen immediately dropped onto the planking.

"Greetings!" Said a male dunmer who also ran the silt strider. "Welcome to Gnisis!"

Kothen looked around, unimpressed, and moved past under a large wooden loft that sheltered trade goods brought to Gnisis.

As he walked, he looked up to the upper levels of Gnisis where the buildings were built on the incline of the mountainside. A bridge was placed across a ravine leading to the mines, the dangerous mines that Kothen had heard about before.

He set his eyes back down and continued through the surprisingly crowded marketplace where the stall traders continued their tirade about how excellent their goods were. A guard lumbered past Kothen, his chain mail armor clinking loudly.

A few seconds later, Rafaen and Kothen's guard caught up to Kothen, the guard being slightly disgruntled that Kothen had not waited.

"Not much of a town." Kothen mused. Rafaen glanced at him, but didn't respond, tired of Kothen's constant grumbling. Kothen turned their route towards a sloping cliff, where he had agreed to meet Tusa, the mage.

They ascended the rocky slope, and as planned, around the corner was Tusa, her long robe billowing in the slight breeze. Next to her was a wrapped bundle, which Kothen suspected was provisions for the road ahead. Looking around, Kothen made his decision.

"We leave now." He stated. Tusa and the guard nodded, but Rafaen's eyes widened, not knowing this new twist.

"Now?" He asked. When Kothen didn't respond Rafaen continued. "You mean on a silt strider?"

"No," Kothen said sharply. "We take no silt strider, we levitate."

Rafaen looked at the sky doubtfully.

"It is a long journey." Rafaen stated. "And it is almost dark, shouldn't we stay-,"

"No!" Kothen roared. "Quit you're muttering, fool! We leave now, whether you are coming or not."

And to emphasize the point, Kothen stepped out over the cliff, casting levitation upon himself, pushing him up into the air. His two guards followed similarly, and were soon many meters away.

Rafaen was torn; he could of course levitate, actually he was a fairly powerful mage, but he didn't know whether to follow, or take a strider to his home in Tel Aruhn. He looked down at his pouch of gold doubtfully, not sure if he could pay for the long trip.

Sighing angrily, he pushed himself out into the air, levitating after them. Kothen knew he was following, but wouldn't slow, beginning to seriously get annoyed with the thoughtful elf. If anything, Kothen pushed the pace faster, too fast, for Rafaen.

Rafaen watched them speed up and sighed again, angling his course to the side of theirs, knowing he couldn't keep up. He moved down to the tree line, catching the wind, his fairly short gray hair and long robe billowing back. His eyes stung against the wind, but he did not close them. He enjoyed looking out over the land that his Telvanni mentors had labeled weak, where many elves that lived in the wild could barely survive.

But passing over tribes and camps, Rafaen obtained a different message. These tribes were not weak; they were strong, stronger than the tribes in the eastern lands. The western tribes had to live with a cold climate and rocky landscape, making most farming impossible.

He covered many miles before the sun was almost gone. He touched down in a clearing of the dark forest he had been traveling over. He moved to the edge of the tiny clearing, picking up logs and sticks. He dug a small pit with magic and placed the sticks in. He concentrated and brought forth a pillar of fire, which he pressed into the pit he dug, lighting the sticks on fire. He curled up near the fire, cursing Kothen when he realized he had no food. He made a decision; tomorrow he would return to Gnisis.

With a hollow feeling in his stomach, he closed his eyes, letting sleep come. He slept lightly though, for sounds of unknown animals woke him every hour or so. When he at last awoke to light streaming into the clearing, he felt relieved.

His muscles were stiff from lying on the ground and his arm temporarily paralyzed and numb from his head resting on it all night. He groaned and got to his feet, realizing a problem. His legs felt unsteady from the lack of food and water, and his mind was not focusing clearly. It had been at least a day since he had last eaten. This would also, he thought, affect his levitation. To confirm his belief, he tried to move into the air, pushing himself with levitation, but he rose only three feet before he came dropping back down.

He started to walk out of the clearing, listening carefully for running water. The trees were tight together and it was hard to maneuver and many times he was forced to backtrack when he faced thorns or close together trees.

The progress was slow, and after an hour, he stumbled back into the clearing where he had slept. He sighed, but it came out more as a cough as his throat was getting drier every second. Rafaen hobbled off in a different direction, but the progress stayed the same. Thorns ripped his robes and branches whipped against him. There was no way he could make it back to Gnisis in his state.

The next hour proved useless apart from the discovery of a very small patch of wild berries, which Rafaen ate, bringing his mind into a clearer state. He continued his search, but he found nothing. He wondered if he could conjure up water, but he had never been taught.

With a sigh of defeat, he repositioned his course for the direction of Gnisis, knowing that a river was near the town. Perhaps he would bump into it if he continued on. He started again, but stopped as he heard something drop behind him. He spun quickly, seeing a bag on the ground. He looked up and saw Tusa the mage hovering in the air.

"There is food and water inside." She spoke, not unkindly. "But you must go back to Gnisis. Kothen would not approve of me giving you provisions."

"Thank you." Said Rafaen graciously. Tusa nodded and levitated upwards into the clouds. Rafaen opened the bag hungrily, grabbing the wooden jar of water. He downed a quarter of the cool liquid in the large bottle in one gulp, but slowed his pace when he realized this water would have to last for the rest of the day. He grabbed half a loaf of bread, tearing it apart with his long nimble fingers. The food and water brought clarity rushing back to his senses, and with one last bite of bread, he tightened the bag with the drawstring and climbed into the sky, powered by his magical abilities.

He took a break after two hours when the sun was still high in the sky. He finished off the rest of the food, and again continued on, passing rocky cliffs and trees. When the sun was starting to slowly dip down towards the horizon, he heard a reassuring noise. Rushing water. A minute later he came across the great river that resided close to the town. He followed it to the North West, still high in the sky, until he saw the familiar stone buildings of Gnisis. He touched down at the same spot as he had left before, and took several deep breaths, relishing the smell of food and smoke. He slowly walked and climbed back down the rock that was slippery from a small rain shower that had hit that morning. He reached the bottom after a minute or so and casually stepped into the crowd of people walking through the street.

Red light spilled onto the cobblestone street from the setting sun. Rafaen looked at his surroundings and decided to find a place to sleep for the night. He looked to his left and saw a crowded inn, packed with dunmer. He decided to find a less crowded place, and continued down the road. The crowd of people on the road grew smaller until he reached a small run down looking inn, not crowded, from what he could tell. He turned and strode in, closing the heavy door behind him. The atmosphere was as he had guessed.

The inn master stood behind a heavy wooden bar, scrubbing filthy glasses. A few elves sat at the tables, but it was certainly not a popular place. Better that way, he thought grimly. Western elves didn't seem to enjoy the company of Telvanni, for good reason, for all of a Telvanni elf's thoughts were about themselves, well, most Telvanni elves.

Rafaen moved to the bar and the inn master looked up wearily.

"Can I have a bed for the night, and a hot meal?" Rafaen asked, looking down at the inn master, for Rafaen was much taller.

"Eh?" The inn master grunted. "Oh, yeah, ten gold a nigh'."

Rafaen reached into his small money pouch and drew forth ten small gold pieces, putting them in the inn master's waiting hands.

"Your room is the last un' on the left. Go an' sit down." The inn master croaked. "I'll get somethin'."

Rafaen sat on a stool at the bar, watching as the inn master made a sloppy dinner of old bread and fruit. He passed it to Rafaen and held out his hand again.

"Five more gold." He said. Rafaen reached into his pouch again and put the gold into the inn master's hand, the master's greedy eyes brightening.

Rafaen started to eat, and although it was not good, the food helped to banish the hollow feeling in his stomach. He passed the tray of finished food back, and got to his feet and stretched.

He walked from the room and up the stairs, which creaked as he ascended. Tired, he opened the last door of the hallway and got into the bed, letting well-needed sleep come.

Balmora

Meanwhile at the same time, the old council leader stood on the top of a silt strider, his spirits low. After the two Telvanni councilors had left, they had continued their debate for hours, finally arriving on the grim decision that they could not save the elves in Skyrim. Although he knew it was the right decision, he did not like leaving his kin to perish.

He had stayed the night in Balmora, and left early the next morning on the first silt strider that was going back to Vivec. Even with the threat of the Dark Brotherhood, it was his home, and where his friends were, and he knew it was necessary to go back. They were approaching now, he could tell by the dark storm clouds that hovered in the sky. A low rumble in the sky caught his attention, followed by a streak of lightning. An almost unnatural gust of wind blew into his face, making him squint. A few minutes later, they reached the strider platform, and the old leader dismounted to the land outside of the Foreign Quarter of Vivec.

Once a home of many animals, the forest outside of Vivec had become deserted of almost all animals. The old leader hugged his cloak tight around him and staggered against the wind to the stone bridge leading into the grand city. A huge gust of wind picked up, screaming, and crashed into the old elf, pushing him down to his back. He regained his footing, and stumbled to the nearing bridge. He quickened his pace as he heard the wind picking up, and just managed to get across the bridge when another devastating gust of wind rushed past.

The strong walls of Vivec blocked most of the force, but the old dunmer still stumbled slightly against the rail that protected elves from falling into the sea below. The old leader, slumped against the rail, looked up to the sky. The clouds were almost completely black, and they shifted about like an angry monster. The leader got back to his feet, one question on his mind. What was happening to his home?

Gnisis

At the break of dawn, Rafaen awoke, even though the sun had barely peeked into the window opposite his bed. He brought a hand to his eyes, rubbing them, and stretched. He climbed out of the bed, splashing his face with cold water from a stone basin on a table beside his bed.

Feeling slightly more awake, he opened the door, careful not to wake any others, and walked smoothly down the steps and out of the door. The cool air hit him as well as the water had. The morning dew reflected off the buildings and plants, shining bright and clear in the small amount of sunlight coming from the horizon.

Rafaen set out with a brisk pace, passing the stalls and shops that were so busy the day before. He had awoken before the city had. A few guards patrolled, but they seemed to be half asleep and barely noticed Rafaen walk past.

As Rafaen hoped, the runner of the silt strider was awake too, and Rafaen walked under the loft of boxed goods to stop a few feet away from the other elf.

"How much is it to get to Tel Aruhn?" Rafaen asked before the other elf could ask his destination.

"Sixty gold." The elf said bluntly. Rafaen looked down to his moneybag, knowing he couldn't have more than thirty.

"Can you get me there for thirty?" Rafaen pleaded. The other elf shook his head.

"Well what is the closest place to Tel Aruhn I can go for thirty gold?" Rafaen inquired, checking his gold pieces.

"Vivec." The elf answered shortly, obviously not wanting to converse so early in the morning. Confirming he had thirty gold, Rafaen looked back up at the elf.

"Here." Rafaen said, holding out six five gold pieces, which were carefully checked by the silt strider runner.

"All right, get on." The elf said grudgingly. Rafaen climbed up atop the strider, sitting on an indent. A few minutes later he was off, riding towards the black clouds on the horizon.

**Thanks for reading!**


	20. The Final Plans

**Sorry for the wait! Part of it is because I haven't been getting very many reviews lately, but thanks to Voration for reviewing the last one. If you've been keeping up with this story, please review.**

The group of Orcs kept a constant pace, rags dampening the usual creak of their thick armor. The night provided the stealth they needed, though it was not likely any enemy was watching. They slowed as they reached the cliffs surrounding the Imperial City. One of them took out a crossbow; its bolt attached to a strong rope, and fired it up past the cliff. The heavy iron bolt sped over the cliff and buried itself sturdily in the sturdy wall of the Imperial City.

Wasting no time, the group of ten Orcs began to climb the rope, their huge muscles propelling them up the rope with speed. One by one they pulled themselves over the cliff and rolled onto the dry grass. After the last Orc was up, one pulled the bolt attached to the rope out of the wall and handed it back to the Orc with the crossbow. The leader of the twenty gestured to the side, and they crept to the right, making their way further back from the Temple Gate of the Imperial City. They made it to the bridge leading to the Arcane University and stopped, not in the open. A few minutes later another group of Orcs arrived, then another. On the opposite side of the city, a similar action was taking place, groups of Orcs building up near the prison.

The night wore on, and more and more groups arrived, adding more and more Orcs to the groups. On the other side of the Imperial City, near the prison, another group of Orcs were building. Among the group near the prison was an Orc that stood out above all the rest, mostly because his head reached about a foot higher than the other Orcs.

Gogran had accompanied them, his huge war hammer ready for use on his back. And it would be used soon. They had received a message from a goblin scout that the Imperials and elves had planned an attack, allowing the trapped Imperials to break out. Gogran smiled evilly, for as far as the Imperials were concerned, they still had the aspect of surprise.

Not anymore, Gogran thought to himself. Not anymore.

Imperial Planes

Stal had been up all night, aiding the defenses. The area around the elven camp now displayed a fairly high wall of stones and logs, many put together by the many mages sent to aid the elven forces.

But the elves were still at work. Stal watched a male soldier bringing a log up to place on the wall, aided by a female soldier from the back of the log. The elves had taken up the challenge of making the camp defendable, and what a job they had done. Deep and long grooves in the ground dug by the elves provided a surprise attack position for swordsmen and pikemen, and long pikes had been imbedded in the wood and rock wall, making it hard for an approaching enemy to breach the camp. Places on the wall rose up to allow a defendable place for archers to fire, but also to be safe from enemy pikes and arrows.

The mages had aided the defenses in a different way, enchanting the wall and the soldiers' weapons. Now the usually plain steel longswords could shear through stone, and others were imbued with electricity and fire, to add to their attack power. The leader of the mages guild, an elf named Kol'Af, had used his strong powers to allow the quivers of some of the archers to never run out of arrows. The defenses were many, perhaps even too many, but Stal would take no chances.

A large group of elves, including Dalvane, hoisted up a catapult that had been brought on the ships, and moved it to the wall, in position to strike. After they had put down the catapult, they each walked back to a pile next to where the stationary catapult had been. This pile was made up of huge rocks, and was more of a mound than a pile. One by one they each heaved, or worked together to heave, the large boulders. Slowly, they walked back, carefully dumping the rocks at the left side of the catapult.

Stal took his eyes from the working elves, and walked along, looking at other defenses. Every site brought his confidence a little higher. They were ready. A subtle change of light to the left, out at the plains, caught his attention. But as he turned, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He meant to turn back to the defenses, but his curiosity, something he had never had to work to suppress, got the better of him.

He walked through the open space in the wall, nodding to the guards, and jogged off into the dark. Stal moved through the darkness, flowing into the rhythm that would make him almost undetectable to an untrained eye. The Orc and Nord forces were huge, and left little opening for him to sneak through, but somehow, he was able to get to the lake surrounding the Imperial City, and dive in. The water was icy, but Stal stayed in, venturing underwater for most of the distance across the lake. He came out soaking, and started to gasp for air, but another movement up above the cliff caught his eye.

He crept off, sneaking up the rocky shore to get to the cliff. The cliff was thankfully not slick with water, so Stal started to climb, moving his hands and feet to propel him up. He dared a look back towards the Nord and Orc encampment and found himself starting to get slightly woozy. The forces looked even bigger from up here, too big. He stared suspiciously at the size of the forces. They hadn't been that big when they arrived. But, Stal thought, maybe it was just his mind.

Stal turned back to the cliff, and pulled himself up and over onto the grass. He jumped slightly as he heard footsteps coming towards him from around the wall. He lowered himself down against the cliff, keeping his eyes just above to see what it was. The footsteps grew louder, and about thirty huge figures walked past, built like Orcs. They continued around the wall, heading for the Arcane University. Stal rolled back up, and followed, careful not to get too close. But as he was almost to the University, he had a feeling that there was something around the corner, something dangerous.

Trusting his instincts, he started to awkwardly climb up the wall, using smooth grooves as foot and handholds. After a few tiring minutes, he reached the top of the sturdy wall, and crept off in the direction of the Orcs. An astonishing site met his eyes. The whole area around the university was crowded tight with Orcs, all silent. Stal withdrew quickly, and looked out from behind a broken section of the wall, and watched. The thirty coming Orcs walked into the mass of what Stal concluded to be at least a thousand Orcs, and moved to a small unoccupied space, and kneeled down, waiting. His curiosity heightened, Stal continued along the wall, until he reached the end of the Orc line. He looked back to his camp, barely noticeable from here, and decided it would be a good idea to get back. But then something else caught his attention. A drop of water on his hand. And then another, and another. Soon, a light rain was cascading down from the sky, striking against the Orc armor and creating a soft tapping noise. Except with a thousand Orcs, it wasn't soft. The sound was loud, but Stal heard something else too. More tapping, to his left.

He crept fast along the wall, the tapping increasing, until he stared out, bewildered at the sight of the Prison district. Hundreds of more Orcs were lying in wait, the rain tapping down on their armor. And then it came to Stal. The reason for both of these strange set ups of Orcs. It was an ambush. Horrified at his discovery, Stal started to make his way towards where he hoped Savon was, to warn him, but then the worst happened. Behind Stal, in the market district of the Imperial City, there were Orcs too. Stal had been oblivious to this fact, but it came clear in one loud word.

"Elf!"

Stal spun around, saw an Orc pointing at him, and others next to him bringing forth crossbows. Adrenaline rushed through Stal's veins and he dove to the side, landing painfully and growling as he charged on along the wall. There was no time to get to Savon. He sprinted on, leaping over a broken section of the wall, and running on. Crossbow bolts followed him, just behind, as a hundred Orcs chased him, not on the wall, but down below. Stal raced back to where he had started, quickly jumping down the thirty feet to the ground. His right leg gave way under him, and he felt a sharp pain, but barely felt it and rushed on, descending the cliff. He rushed back to the shore of the lake and dived in, the cold water not bothering him in the least as he swam.

His leather armor made it hard to go quickly though, and his heart raced. He staggered out of the water, trying to stealthily run, for if he was seen near the thousands of Orcs and Nords in the plains, he had no chance.

But luck was with him, and he raced across the plains, none seeing him.

He reached his encampment, and two soldiers rushed out to meet him, as his leg finally gave way, bringing him almost to the ground as the guard hauled him up. They carried him back to his tent, many elves' eyes following him. They placed him in a chair, saying they would get a mage, and Stal's junior commander, Joffe, rushed in.

"What is it? Where have you been?" He asked breathlessly. Stal breathed heavily staring at Joffe.

"We have trouble." Stal said.

Orc encampment

Ten Orcs wielding pikes ran forward, stabbing at the huge creature. The creature was a thick skinned ogre, brought from the home of the Orcs. The Ogre flailed its powerful arms, trying to swat at the annoying Orcs, but whenever one of its arms got close, it was stabbed away. The Orcs who were in a half circle behind the ogre, kept attacking, pushing the ogre in the right direction. The sharp pikes couldn't drive through the ogre's thick skin, but it gave the ogre sharp pains.

Around them, many other Orcs were doing the same thing, trying to transport the hundred ogres into position. The Nords were busy at work preparing the mighty Orcish catapults, heaving them into position. Tardos, the Nord commander, walked through the work.

"Pull ye weaklings!" He roared at two Nords trying to put the catapult arm into position. When the two soldiers continued to not be able to get it into place, Tardos walked over and with his left hand, slammed the catapult arm into position. Tardos snarled and walked away. Tension was high in the camp, and failure was not tolerable.

But despite Tardos' anger before, he could not help but admit that he was getting excited. Victory was near.

Imperial Palace

He had been sleeping for hours, when finally the sound of rain brought him back. Savon sat up, slightly dazed. He stretched his arms out and pushed himself up, grabbing Dal Kav, and a sharp black tool next to it. He saw Tapan sitting on a small wall, sharpening his large blade, and went to join him. He passed a female Imperial guard captain and greeted her, and kept going, passing many soldiers that were making the last touches to armor and weapons before the battle in the morning. Savon hopped up on the wall, and placed Dal Kav on his lap, and started to strike it with the sharp tool, sharpening and smoothing out grooves in the fine, almost indestructible metal.

"Not much time left." Tapan said in his deep voice.

"No." Savon said simply. He struck Dal Kav again, and the small groove smoothed out more. "The darkness will soon be gone. Three hours, maybe a little more."

Tapan held out his sword, testing its balance and taking a practice swing.

"How is your home doing, Hammerfell?" Savon asked, referring to the home province of the redguards. Tapan shrugged.

"We have not been troubled much." Tapan said slowly. "The Orcs have given us some trouble, but I think they fear an all out attack. They probably thought it would diminish their numbers for their march to Cyrodiil. The Bretons have given us some trouble, but they've been keeping quiet."

"Have you heard of Ron the Barbare?" Savon asked suddenly. Tapan frowned, thinking.

"Who is he, a Breton, I don't think-," Then realization dawned on his features. "Is he a mage?"

Savon nodded, and Tapan began to speak again.

"He has been some trouble to some of us. We can't catch him, he just disappears whenever we try." Tapan said. "But as I said, they've been quiet most recently."

Savon took in the information, thinking.

Dark Elf Camp

"Are you saying that as soon as Savon and Tapan lead the Imperials out, they're going to be attacked from behind?" Joffe asked. Stal nodded impatiently.

"What else have I been saying for the last few minutes?" Stal barked. "More than a thousand Orcs lie in wait."

Joffe paced and turned back to Stal.

"So this means the bulk of their army has fewer soldiers." Joffe said logically. Stal shook his head again.

"The force of Orcs was just as strong as before, just as packed in. More it seemed."

Joffe sighed.

"Well, I don't think we can do much about it so we might as well go with the original-,"

"No!" Stal bellowed, losing his usual gruff controlled manner. "You weren't there! Do you want them to die?"

Joffe shook his head.

"Why would I want them to die? No, but it seems there is not much that we can do!" Joffe said, starting to get angry himself.

"Not much we can-, of course we can-," Stal started angrily. But Joffe cut him off.

"Then what can we do?" He asked calmly. Stal sighed, his anger started to diminish as he looked into Joffe's mustached face.

"I'm not sure." But then it came to him, a plan, not a very clever plan, but a plan nonetheless. Joffe noticed this and started to ask when Stal spoke.

"We do something they don't expect." Stal started. Joffe nodded slowly not getting it, but Stal was not finished. "We attack first, all of our forces."

"You mean-?" Joffe started.

"In a few hours time, the elves and redguards will wage war against the Orcs and Nords!"

**Thanks for reading! Anyway, as I always say, and probably always will say, please review. For a while I was getting a ton of reviews, but it has been slowing down fast. I only got 1 review from the last chapter, and I think only one since I posted the last chapter (the same one). It would help me so much if you reviewed. Anyway, next chapter is already started so it should be posted soon.**


	21. The Arena

**Hello again. It sure has been a while. I was kind of losing momentum writing the story. Anyway, this chapter is the longest yet, and is one of my favorites. So, I hope you like it too. **

Ten dark elves stood around the entrance to a sloping tunnel, readying blades and checking the steel and leather armor the protected their chest and most of the lower body. Light leather helmets covered the upper part of their heads, but had large slits to look through. The only parts the armor didn't cover were from the biceps of their arms to the lower part of their forearm, which were outfitted in spiked gauntlets. The armor also didn't cover all of their legs, but ended at the knees, leaving about a foot of bare skin between their leg armor and boots.

In this group of ten in the front were the three red ranked elves, Sakov, Drizzon, and Rotilan, who was grumbling as always while the other two were checking their blades, and in the case of Drizzon, testing his bow string. Rotilan however, only carried his usual short sword. Many enemies thought that the mage would not be skilled in close combat, and eagerly came in, hoping for an easy kill, but were sadly mistaken, and most were sent running the other way after the first exchange of attacks. The room in which they stood was circular, made of stone, and the walls were splattered with grime.

Sakov adjusted his helmet and sheathed his long blades, feeling for the two other hilts on his back. His hands met the two hilts of the short curving scimitars that Commander Rockfell had suggested he put there just in case.

He turned to his fellow elves, who hushed, except for Rotilan who mumbled, "Why does he get all the attention?"

"We are being put out there," Sakov began in a strong voice, just starting to get used to addressing his fellow elves, and in turn, being respected and listened to. "To please Nords. That is all. According to Rockfell, the King wants us to die in this match. We will not give him that satisfaction!" He roared, drawing a cheer from the other elves, and a half-hearted grunt from Rotilan, who was still preparing his spells in his mind.

"We will win today if we don't falter, and hold strong!" Sakov went on, and the elves around him nodded. "You know the tactics, remember your training, as I will. But," Sakov said, changing tone. "We will not give the Nords the satisfaction of killing."

Rotilan frowned, finally paying attention and saying, "What in all of the peaks of the Red mountain are you talking about?" but Sakov didn't pay heed to this remark, but continued on.

"The King loves killing, he doesn't care if a lot of his warriors die, he prefers it! We will kill no one today. No lives should be spent for mere entertainment.

"Hit with flat sides of the blades, use minor attacks, and slam pommels, but we are not going to give that King satisfaction."

One by one, the elves started to nod again, and then together all ten elves, Rotilan half-heartedly, began to chant, first softly, then louder, until the whole chamber echoed with their words.

After a minute or so of this, the elves began to disperse and adjust their weapons and gear again. Rotilan grabbed Sakov's arm and turned him, staring him evenly in the eye.

"No paying back the Nords?" He asked. Sakov shook his head.

"And that goes with spells too." Sakov added. "Only use spells to injure, no massive fireballs, no huge lightning bolts, or whatever in the seas of the east you can make."

Sakov started to turn but Rotilan turned him back.

"No fireballs?" He asked, almost pleaded. Sakov shook his head defiantly, annoyed.

"Only if necessary. Use spells to knock out or tire, or even better, shield the rest of us." Sakov said in tones of finality. He saw another retort coming so he stated flatly. "That is all."

As Sakov walked away he heard Rotilan muttering angrily, but knew that deep down Rotilan agreed with him. He walked to Drizzon who was making sure the quiver of arrows that Rotilan had enchanted with endless arrows was still working. Drizzon turned to regard Sakov.

"Should I shoot for legs?" He asked. Sakov nodded.

"But if there are ranged archers, ones we can't reach with swords, shoot them in the shoulder."

Drizzon nodded and turned away. Sakov heard heavy footsteps at the door and saw the bulky Rockfell come through and walk to Sakov.

"Ye got em' ready to fight?" He asked. Sakov nodded and told Rockfell his idea about no killing.

"Wha'?" Rockfell said surprised. "Ye know whatever yer facin' ain't gonna show ye the same."

Sakov nodded but held by his decision. Rockfell, in his respect for Sakov over the last few days of training, did not object.

"Ye are the one leadin' em', not me." Rockfell put in, but Sakov didn't say anything.

"Well," Rockfell said when Sakov made no comment. "Good luck to ye."

And he marched from the room, the heavy wooden door slamming hard. With nothing to do, Sakov reached up to his shoulders and spun out his scimitars, practicing a quick double cross maneuver, pivoting on his left foot and spinning to attack to the side. He altered the blade face so if there had been an enemy there, they would not have felt the bite of the sharp edge, but the sting of the flat side.

Then a loud horn erupted out of what seemed the ceiling itself, the signal Sakov had been waiting for. He sheathed his blades as he darted quickly across the room motioning to the elves to follow him up the tunnel sloping upwards to a small bright circle of light at the top.

Drizzon and Rotilan fell in step behind Sakov, and the seven others followed them, the elves' light feet making almost no sound against the tough rock on which they ran.

The walls were splayed with grime and dirt, the smell flowing into Sakov's nose, and he almost gagged. The tunnel was roughly circular, and as they neared the end, they saw it widened to where a steel gate was positioned. When the elves reached within ten feet of the gate, it slowly ascended into the ceiling, screaming and groaning with protest from rust. The gate was fully brought up with a _clang!_ and all that was left visible was ten small spikes that descended from the rock ceiling. A mass of screams and roars met their ears, assaulting their senses as much as the sudden brightness of the sun did. The elves walked out, amazed by the sites. Behind them the gate clanged shut.

The stadium was huge. It was roughly two hundred yards wide and two hundred yards long. About one hundred yards of width and length took up the playing field. The field was covered in about one or two inches of dirt, but under that was a thick layer of rock. Ten huge stone pillars surrounded the outer center of the field and in between the pillars at about ten feet were chains that connected between the pillars.

The rest of the stadium was a different matter. It hosted twenty five thousand stone benches, nearly all taken by Nords. The seat levels were tiered, so the highest point of the stadium was well over a hundred feet off the ground. An area of about forty feet separated the first benches from the field, and twenty more feet up on a stone platform was a huge throne, slightly shaded by a stone jutting out above it. In this chair sat the King of the Nords, Gargoth, who gazed down at the elves, sneering slightly. Two black spiked guards stood next to him, and many more blocked the entrances to the platform.

Throughout the stadium Nords walked through the seats, selling food and such items. The top of the stadium, which was about fifty feet over the top row, had ten huge pillars that extended up into the sky and were circled around the stadium. At the top of these pillars were flags showing different Nord cities and such, and mostly the Nord flag itself.

But to Sakov, there was no time to be looking at the stadium. He was looking at the field already planning tactics.

Could Rotilan levitate up to the top of the pillars? He thought. No, he concluded. If there was ranged fire, he would be almost helpless. They needed a circle defense, he guessed, that way they would have all the different angles covered.

"As soon as it starts," Sakov said, loud enough for the other elves to hear. "Form a circle defense. Rotilan, we could use a defensive spell."

Rotilan nodded, and began to prepare another spell, making it easier to access in his mind when battle was upon him.

Sakov thought of saying something else, telling the elves something supportive, but he could not think of anything, and a second a loud voice boomed across the stadium though magic.

"Welcome Nords of Skyrim!" Boomed the voice, which turned out to be a Nord announcer near the King. "Today, we give you a battle that has not been done in many, many years! I give you… the battle of Ronth Kei!"

The stadium roared, louder than it had in a long time. Many knew the famed battle of Ronth Kei. Ronth Kei was one of the first ten battles of Skyrim, the hardest ever. It had been altered of course, but the changes only made it only more brutal. But then the stadiums cheers started to diminish as they saw the ten elves. Ten elves?, most Nords thought. This would be over even before it began.

The announcer seemed to notice this, and started to speak again.

"This battle will shake the arena itself good Nords! Get ready…"

The stadium went near silent with anticipation.

"And we begin!" The announcer roared. Five gates across from the elves opened, and over thirty arrows and spears combined soared out, streaking across for the unprepared elves. Sakov swung out the two scimitars, which would be faster at batting away the missiles, but he didn't need to. A burst of energy blasted out of their hastily formed circle, crashing against the arrows and spears, breaking them in half and sending them crashing to the ground.

Sakov didn't have to turn far for the solution of what had happened. Rotilan stood, hands out, teeth gritted in determination, getting another spell ready.

The ground shook as twenty heavily armed Nords ran from the gates, but that was only a distraction. The stone behind the elves started to move, and just as an elf shouted out, five huge boulders came rolling down at them. The circle of elves moved frantically, and only one elf was injured, who had his leg slightly crushed. But the elf would not give up, and grimacing in pain, got to his feet again. The ground shook again, and Sakov realized it wasn't only the coming Nords that were doing it.

As suddenly as the boulders, the ground seemed to open up to the side of the elves, letting out ten more Nords. And suddenly, they were in combat. Sakov fought with his long blade, parrying and attacking, knocking out a heavily armored Nords in one hit. He drove a Nord back with four quick ferocious attacks and slammed the sturdy pommel of his sword into the Nords face, making the huge figure collapse.

The elves fought brilliantly against the first ten Nords, even better after Rotilan put a shielding spell over all of them that deflected minor hits. After thirty seconds, with twenty more Nords bearing down on them, the first ten were all knocked unconscious.

"Wedge form!" Sakov yelled to the elves, and in less than three seconds, the circle changed into the shape of a triangle, and attacked the Nord line formation with the wedge formation, smashing through the first line easily, while the elves near the back defended against any Nords trying to get around.

Drizzon fired arrow after arrow, striking at their legs and places that wouldn't kill. When a Nord approached, he drew out his sword quickly, replacing his bow on his back. He parried quickly and put the Nord into a difficult routine of fakes and hits, and by the span of eight seconds, Drizzon stood back and the Nord fell to the ground knocked out. He turned back and brought out his bow again, firing away.

Up on the stone platform, the King was chuckling. This was not the battle; this was merely trying to get the elves confident before they were utterly demolished. The King laughed, and sat back on his throne, watching.

The Group of twenty Nords were reduced to ten in one minute without any dunmer casualties, and after twenty more seconds, all twenty were on the ground unconscious.

Sakov stood at the front, breathing hard, watching the field for a sign of their next challenge. And then again, the ground started to shake. Sakov looked around, searching, but the disturbance seemed to be under them.

And then there was an explosion, and the ground was torn apart, and a mass of flaming inferno, everywhere.

Sakov leaped back, being lightly singed by the flames. He called for a retreat, but he doubted any could here over the rush of fire and explosion of the earth.

And then eight others were beside him, and Drizzon was yelling that they had lost an elf.

And then the fire stopped, leaving smoke everywhere, and pieces of rock and earth knocked around the field. And then, they saw it.

A huge worm, four feet thick and sixty feet long, towered above them, the Nords roaring when they too saw the beast. The worm's outer skin was near white with a little of brown, for these rare beasts lived in the ice, under the ice. Its mouth was open, displaying twenty razor sharp teeth. The worm's fire also came from its mouth, as it had just displayed.

The silence was broken by a flash and a bang, and then the sound of an arrow being released. A lightning bolt crashed into the worm's face, and an arrow slammed right above the worm's small eye.

Drizzon drew back another arrow, and Rotilan went into spell casting again, but the worm roared in anger and coiled up and leaped for the elves. The group of nine split in half, one half rolling to the left while the other went to the right. The worm missed, and slammed into the ground where they had been a second before. Another of Drizzon's arrows pierced its face, and a second later an inferno, not unlike the worm before had produced, crashed into the ground next to the worm, pushing it back and it fell on its back. Sakov and two other elves were next to it in a second, attacking with their sharp swords to try and penetrate the thick skin.

The worm groaned in agony, and shook its massive body, throwing Sakov and the two others back. Sakov rolled up to his feet lightly, hardly taking any damage. The worm roared, and opened its huge mouth, and Sakov was just able to shout out at the last second.

"Dive!"

A raging inferno like before erupted from the worm' mouth, melting stone and blackening dirt.

Smoke rose up like a great monster, blocking everything. And then, a gust of wind came out of nowhere, blasting the smoke back. Sakov knew it was Rotilan, and dived forward to where he guessed the rest of the elves were. And rolled right next to the worm. It dived down for Sakov, who slid to the side, just managing to escape the beast's razor sharp teeth. He leapt up, and stabbed his sword into the worm's hide, and it stuck, but as he tried to take it out, the worm rose in the air, bringing Sakov with it, who was still hanging by his sword.

The worm roared, and tried to shake the blade and Sakov free, but Sakov held on firmly, and his blade remained firmly planted. Drizzon fired again, striking the worm near the mouth. The worm roared and crashed towards the ground, aiming for the group of elves.

Sakov tried to heave his sword out, but realized that it wouldn't be coming out anytime soon, so he spun the two scimitars out of their sheaths, slashing down on the worm's back. The worm reared suddenly and reversed its motion, crashing down on its back to get rid of Sakov. Sakov waited until the last second and spun up on to the other side of the worm, slashing away with the two blades. The worm tried to get up again, but Sakov wasn't going to let it, and his attacks became more and more powerful.

Another arrow struck the worm, and the other elves charged in, Rotilan unsheathing his blade along with Drizzon. And then there were nine elves upon the worm, attacking and keeping it in place. The worm roared one last time, before it fell still. The crowd was silent. None had survived this far without more than half of their force gone.

Sakov turned, sheathing his two scimitars and pulling out his long blade, watching for a sign of what they would face next. Everything was still deathly quiet. A small echo of something crashing came out at them and then came a low grinding. The elves heard it, and turned, but the grinding seemed to be coming from everywhere. Then quietly, Drizzon muttered, "Look."

Ten sections in the wall were receding into the ceiling, and two huge figures walked out of each section. In front was a huge black armored guard, like the ones Sakov, Drizzon and Rotilan had fought in the main hall. Behind them were equally heavily armed guards wielding bows.

"No." Sakov muttered. How would they survive this?

"Form up, defensive wall formation. Rotilan, give the group another shielding spell." Sakov said, taking a deep breath. The huge guards closed in, the archers standing back. The front guards heaved out their six-foot hammers and charged. A blinding flash came over the nine elves, and smoke billowed around them from Rotilan's shielding spell.

Drizzon let an arrow fly, and it slammed into one armored guard, denting the armor slightly.

Sakov swung his blade around and as the huge Nords entered his range and swung, he ducked and stabbed, but his sharp blade did not penetrate.

He used the force to swing his legs and avoid a downward swing that crashed into the ground, spraying dirt everywhere. An arrow soared in from the Nord Guards, and one of the dunmer fell.

Sakov yelled loudly and smashed his sword flat against the spiked guard's head. His strength from fury was almost as much as the spiked guards, and the spiked guard fell unconscious.

Rotilan levitated into the air as a spiked guard swung at him. He shot down a spell that would blind at the Nord, and the Nord fell around, toppling against Nord and dunmer alike. An arrow soared at Rotilan, and he raised a hand to make a shield spell just in time. The powerful shield blocked the arrow, and Rotilan sent a weakening spell at the archer. The spell connected and the archer fell to the ground, not finding the strength to get up.

Sakov and another elf named Valrenth, who fought with two glass short swords, charged two guards near Rotilan.

Sakov leaped and kicked the Nord's face, but the Nord didn't react. Sakov just managed to land on his feet and duck as a heavy swing came at him. Sakov swung downwards, and the Nord turned its hammer to the side to block. Sakov spun as the weapons touched, slashing away in fast and deadly moves.

He and the Nord competed for a minute before Sakov finally slammed the pommel into the Nord's head.

Meanwhile, the dunmer had lost two more elves, and their defensive formation drew in tighter. Sakov turned and watched Valrenth for a second before turning back to the battle.

The Nord who dueled Valrenth had abandoned his hammer and drew the two razor sharp axes on his hip. Now evenly matched, Valrenth, who had almost made it into class red, spun his swords away, and the Nord spun the axes equally fast, keeping up with the attacks. Valrenth, who wasn't very good against heavily armed warriors, got clipped on the side by the axe. He returned with a blinding flurry of well-aimed attacks. The attacks left small dents, and the Nord backed away, but Valrenth jumped in, slicing the blades around. The Nord punched out a hand and it hit Valrenth's chest and he flew back, almost unconscious. The Nord raised his arm to throw an axe, and was hit by two arrows from Drizzon, which pierced the Nord's legs and a second later thrown back by a spell that knocked the Nord out from Rotilan.

Rotilan, who still had a lot of energy to use magic, sent a restoring spell down at the dazed Valrenth, and Valrenth came back into consciousness. Rotilan turned and sent a missile of smoke down at an area with archers, and the magical smoke, which still allowed one to breathe, exploded in their area, making them not able to get clear shots.

Drizzon sent another arrow from his unlimited quiver at a coming Nord and then flipped out his sword, charging the Nord. The Nord ducked the attack and swung the hammer around. The handle of the war hammer hit Drizzon in the head, and Drizzon slowly fell, crashing to the ground.

Rotilan roared and sent a strength-sapping spell down at the Nord. The spell hit, but the Nord stayed on his feet. Sakov sprinted towards the Nord and punched out his sword pommel, and finally the Nord crashed to the ground unconscious.

Rotilan jumped to the ground, and Sakov turned to keep off attacking Nords while Rotilan tried to heal Drizzon, for he was not dead yet. He worked furiously applying fortifying spells and healing spells, but Drizzon remained still.

By now, only four hammer guards remained, and six elves, counting Drizzon, remained. Eight Archers remained, but they were having trouble getting clear shots, especially since Rotilan had sent the smoke spell at a large group of them.

Now the elves teamed up and the hammer guards were outmatched. The elves had trained together, and their movements almost always complimented another's. A minute later, only one remained, quickly sent to the ground by a double slam of pommels from Valrenth's swords.

A hail of six arrows soared in, and another elf fell. Sakov, Rotilan, Valrenth, Drizzon, who was unconscious, and one other dunmer were the only ones left. Rotilan put a spell on them, temporarily making them blend in with the stadium. The spell required a fair amount of energy, and Rotilan almost staggered to the ground.

Together, with Drizzon levitating at Rotilan's side, they charged at the Archers. Rotilan sent a weakening spell at them and his last spell wore off, making the five elves visible. Valrenth, Sakov, and the other elf charged in, and within ten seconds, three archers had been knocked out. Only five remained. An arrow soared in and Rotilan saved Valrenth. His shield spell just knocked the arrow away, and now his energy was even lower. Sakov saw this and charged at the last group of archers, sheathing his long blade and spinning out his two short curved blades, knowing that they would deflect arrows better. As arrow soared in and his two blades snapped and spun, striking the arrow in half.

He leaped and slammed both blades inward, striking the archer, before the Nord could draw a blade, with the flat sides.

Valrenth took out the other, and Rotilan, with the last of his energy sent a spell flying at a third. The other dunmer warrior knocked out the third, getting injured by a dagger strike, and Sakov knocked out the last, jumping in and twisting, dodging a clumsy swing and snapping both of his blades.

Sakov, the weariness just starting to settle in, almost fell to his knees, but he would not.

He went to rejoin the other four who were standing, except for Drizzon, but they too looked as exhausted as Sakov. They all knew they wouldn't survive another attack.

Meanwhile, the crowd was sharing disbelieving looks. They had survived the match! Only once before in history had that happened.

The King Gargoth had stood, looking furious. They couldn't survive! He sent a signal to the captain of his guard, and the guard nodded, spreading the word. The guards spread out, drawing bows and positioning themselves at slits in the wall above the ground. Gargoth sat smugly, knowing that the elves' short victory would be over.

But the king had underestimated his enemies. Valrenth, who had very keen eyes, had picked out the signal the king had made, and caught the movement around the stadium.

"They're going to kill us." He said softly to Sakov, motioning to the guards taking up positions at the slits, drawing out bows.

Sakov's eyes narrowed, but he didn't know what to do.

"Then there's one thing we can do." Whispered Sakov to the group. "Block the arrows until they run out."

But Sakov knew his plan was not going to last long. Arrows were hard to block, and especially a few at a time. The King stood.

"Dunmer!" The King roared. "You have done well, but you cannot hope to compete against the power of Skyrim. You will die now, and none will regret your passing. NOW GUARDS!"

Thirty arrows came on, and Rotilan saved them, as he had done before. A blast exploded from him, but this was more powerful than the last. The arrows snapped like before, but this blast took out chunks from the wall, and a few unlucky archers fell into the arena. Rotilan collapsed, his final efforts taking the last of his waning energy. The archers drew back again, and Sakov knew it was the end. When he heard a grinding noise, he looked to the side and saw Rockfell and some of the other elves at the gate, now open, beckoning to the elves and then withdrawing. Sakov signaled to the door, and heaved up Rotilan, while Valrenth took Drizzon, and the last dunmer ran with them as the arrows released. The arrows came on, and struck Valrenth in the back, Sakov in the calf, and the other dunmer in the shoulder. Still they ran, and Sakov pretended to use a spell on the gate, trying to make it look like he had somehow opened it so the other dunmer and Rockfell wouldn't be blamed. A blinding flash of light momentarily lit the arena from his spell. The King roared, and Sakov and the others rolled into the darkness that swallowed them up, and Sakov fell into unconsciousness from the pain and fatigue at last.

Five hours later

Sakov awoke, bruised and in pain, his calf on fire. He was in a bed, and the arrow had been removed. He looked up. Three other beds lay next to him, containing Rotilan, Drizzon, and Valrenth. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his calf, and he stood, pain coursing through him. He limped from the room, down a stone passageway, and into the training room, where the dunmer and Nord once-prisoners trained, with Rockfell watching. When he saw Sakov he barked.

"Ye shouldn't be up!"

Sakov shrugged, and pain shot up his leg, and he grimaced. Rockfell hopped down from where he stood and went to Sakov.

"Ye almost died and yer up and walkin'." Stated Rockfell. Sakov shrugged again.

"If not for you and the dunmer who opened the gate, then all four of us would have died."

He said, gesturing in the direction of Rotilan, Drizzon, and Valrenth, and then nodding his head towards the dunmer warrior who was up and about.

"Eh, ye won the match. The King was gonna' execute ye." Then Rockfell smiled slightly. "But that was some good fightin' from all o' ye. And now the King is telling everyone that the execution was part of the test."

Rockfell rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, he said that ye all fought great." Rockfell continued, rolling his eyes again. "Probably just to cover up for his little outbreak of anger. And to add to that, the survivors of the match are gettin' a special gift."

Sakov raised his eyebrows, as Rotilan went on.

"One set o' weapons is gonna be enchanted by the best enchanters in Skyrim. Ye get to choose the effects. I must say, quite a gift."

Sakov knew the King was doing it only to convince Skyrim that he was not cruel, but still he was overwhelmed at the implications. A set of weapons to be enchanted!

"When?" Sakov said, shutting his eyes as the pain came up his leg.

"Today or tomorrow." Said Rockfell. "Anyway, ye should rest, cause ye got a fair amount o' wounds and that arrow pierced pretty deep."

Sakov, tired and in pain, walked back and lay down, putting his head on the pillow and drifting off.

A day later

7:00 AM

A light flared in front of him as someone lit a torch. The person shook Sakov slightly, who groaned and sat up, pleased to feel that his leg did not hurt as much. There stood Rotilan, looking weary, and next to him, Drizzon, sporting a large lump on his head.

"Time to go." Rotilan said annoyed. "It is time to fulfill the generous king's offer of kindness."

Sakov watched Rotilan roll his eyes and swing his sword out.

"But this sword certainly could use some enchanting." He said.

Sakov watched Drizzon.

"How do you feel?" asked Sakov. Drizzon shrugged.

"Okay, though this lump hurts." He said, grimacing as he brought a hand to his head. Sakov got to his feet, strapping on his weapons and slipping on his armor.

"Let's go." Rotilan mumbled, and they walked out. Valrenth stood with dunmer warrior outside, looking around at the ceiling. Valrenth, who was usually fairly reserved with people, greeted Sakov, and the five walked down the stone hall, until they reached Rockfell, who stood at the end, next to a door.

"Enchanters are inside." He grunted. He grabbed Rotilan by the shoulder and spun him around.

"Don't get sarcastic with em'." Rockfell growled threateningly. Rotilan raised his eyebrows.

"Sarcastic. Me? Never." Rotilan snorted and pushed past him. The room was stone and filled with torches. Five wizened looking Nords stood at a table each, with a variety of stones and scrolls next to them.

They were each brought to an enchanter, who began to inspect their weapons first.

Sakov's enchanter, a medium aged Nord, took Sakov's offered longsword, inspecting it with her long fingers.

She raised it high, inspecting the blackish blade and hilt.

"Well made." She muttered, and Sakov caught the comment. "Well, what sort of enchantment do you want? I suggest fire damage, perhaps shock."

Sakov thought for a second.

"My father's sword has the enchantment of a sharper edge that can shear through much more than a common sword." Sakov said. The enchanter looked up.

"And who is your father?" She asked.

"Savon." Said Sakov uncertainly, not sure whether she would know the name. But she did.

"Dal Kav!" She muttered, amazed. The sword was known to almost all enchanters.

"Perhaps," She muttered. "But it would not be as powerful of an enchantment. Do you want that?"

Sakov nodded his approval and she continued, holding the blade in one hand, while in the other she held a glowing stone. She muttered some magical words, and pressed the stone against the blade, and the blade glowed and shimmered before growing dark. She handed it to Sakov, and with her other arm she passed him a steel baton. Sakov held out the baton and swung the sword down. The blade made a large slit in the middle, where most blades would have bounced off. The enchanter nodded, pleased.

"Thank you." Said Sakov. She nodded and he walked off to inspect the others' choices. Rotilan, as was expected, was giving his enchanter some considerable trouble, insisting that he should enchant the sword. Sakov caught a few words as he and the enchanter tugged on a glowing stone, each trying to get it for themself.

"Trained in enchanting-do it by myself!" Sakov heard Rotilan growl before tugging the stone away, when Rotilan relaxed his grip, the enchanter snatched it back, grinning triumphantly as he pressed the sword into the stone. It glowed red, before he handed it back to an annoyed Rotilan. Rotilan sheathed it and went to join Sakov.

"Fire damage." He said, inspecting his blade. "Ah, cutting enchantment, good choice."

Rotilan looked at the sword in Sakov's sheath. Sakov watched Drizzon get his bow get enchanted with an impact enchantment, making it so when the arrow connected, it would create a wave of force, pushing nearby people back, sometimes knocking them out.

"Reversible." Said Drizzon simply. "If I don't want the bow to use the enchantment, it won't."

Sakov raised his eyebrows, impressed. Together the three watched Valrenth get his two swords enchanted with a speeding enchantment, making them able to attack faster. He joined them as the last dunmer got an ebony spear enchanted with an impact enchantment like Drizzzon's.

"Pretty good." The dunmer named Rof said, inspecting the weapon. "Reversible. Like yours Drizzon."

Together, with the enchanters bowing half-heartedly, they left, meeting Rockfell.

"Ready? Right, back to training we go." He grunted. "Ye'll probably want to use other practice weapons, since ye don't want to use the enchantment one yer training opponent."

Sakov and the others went back to their rooms, dropping their enchanted weapons.

The day wore on as it usually had, full of training. The end of the day was appreciated, and when Rockfell stopped Sakov from leaving, Sakov was fairly curious. He followed Rockfell to the other side of the room.

"Ye're gonna try to escape." He stated bluntly. Sakov started to say no, but Rockfell stopped him.

"I know ye are, and I don't want to stop ye." He continued. Sakov narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Listen! I don't like the King!" Rockfell yelled. "I want to help ye get out."

"Why-?" Sakov started but Rockfell cut in.

"Because ye're gonna die! The King is gonna kill ye next match! It's just gonna be the survivors of the last match, and he's gonna give ye a challenge that would be tough with fifty men!"

Sakov drew in a sharp breath.

"Well you know we want to go, so… why are you telling me?" Sakov asked. Rockfell lowered his voice.

"Because I can help ye escape. Tomorrow night, the guard is gonna be decreased by half, due to a meetin'. I know a tunnel that'll get ye out without no guards." Rockfell said softly. "You and all yer companions. At least out o' the ice tower."

Looking intrigued Sakov, listened, for the next half an hour, before going to bed. They would try to escape tomorrow.

**Thanks for reading! I've already started the next chapter with Sakov. I had planned not to have the next chapter about him, but I decided to write it, and if people want to have the next chapter about Sakov, it will be so. So, thanks for reading, and please leave me a review!**


	22. Throwing off the chains

**Hello readers! Wow, I'm sorry I haven't updated in while. But here is the next chapter, ready to read. I hope you like it; I think it's one of my better ones. I would say there's a little more character development in this chapter, and I hope you think so too.**

An arrow soared in at a target, thudding into it. A sword swept across a wooden board, making a mark before spinning in a circle and hitting again. A knife crashed against the stone floor, badly thrown.

Sakov watched his fellow dunmer training, waiting.

He had managed to tell all of them the plan for escape, now, the only thing to do was wait. Sakov was now clad in his Morrowind armor, which Rockfell had retrieved for them, and a faded gray cape with hood reaching down to his boots. He had gotten all of the other dunmer to wear their Morrowind armor, for if they managed their plan right, they would be gone from Skyrim in five days. If it didn't work… Sakov hadn't planned about that. The other Nord gladiators seemed not to notice the sudden change in their attire, to them, it didn't matter.

Rotilan stood across the room in his robe-like Morrowind armor, watching through narrowed eyes at the small amount of light that was shining into the room from a small rock chute that led up to the city, waiting for the needed darkness. His face was clouded in shadow, his hood pulled up and hiding his face in darkness.

Drizzon, Rof, and Valrenth were training, but were watching for any signal from Sakov or Rotilan that it was time to leave. Drizzon fired arrow after arrow at the targets, switching views quickly from Sakov, then Rotilan, then back to the target and _thud!_ The arrow would strike home, quivering where it was firmly planted. Rockfell stood up on his surveying platform, looking down at the gladiators. The toughened Nord, though he would never show it, was worried, for a big part of the plan could depend on luck. He stretched, loosening his muscles, and waved a hand for two practice duelers he was watching to start again.

Rotilan, partly to shake off the stares he was getting for not training, and partly to see the Nords reactions, snapped out his arm, sending a huge lightning bolt catapulting at a magical target. The racket that was issued as the spiraling light cracked against the target, though it wasn't very loud, made most of the Nords who had been watching him suspiciously jump back in surprise. Rotilan turned back to the light shining in smugly, bringing his hood farther up on his head. Sakov paced nervously.

_If we don't get out, it's my fault. _Sakov thought. _If I had chosen not to follow out with the plans, and persuaded the others that it would be better to wait a bit longer to escape, then I could be saving us._

Sakov growled angrily at himself.

_There is no time to think on what has passed! _Sakov thought to himself.

_But you still might be able to stop the whole thing from happening. _Said a small voice in his head. Sick of pacing and thinking, Sakov reached to his hip, his sword slithering out of its sheath. He went into a basic practice routine, driving out more and more thoughts of turning back out of his decision with every swing.

Rotilan looked up again, and saw that the light was darker now, and night was fast approaching. His eyes lit up, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. It was time.

Rotilan snapped his fingers, producing a small green flash, the signal they had agreed upon. Sakov sheathed his sword, pretending to yawn loudly, the second signal for the elves that had missed the first. Sakov walked lazily from the room, looking back one more time to Rockfell. The Nord looked down at the dunmer warrior and nodded. Sakov nodded back and left the room, his cape swinging in his wake.

Drizzon looked to the walls nervously, or more specifically, the flaming torches on the wall. Rotilan, seeing Drizzon's nervous look, waved his hand, and a small gust of wind soared against the walls, and the torches flickered for a moment, before going out, leaving a fine stream of smoke trailing from where each had been lit.

Everything was dark.

The elves silently broke out into motion, running quickly from the room, and Rotilan left last, and waved his hand, and with a small breeze and a glow, the torches flamed to life. The Nords blinked, their eyes adjusting to the sudden light, before a near empty side of the room was distinguishable. The elves were nowhere to be seen. A Nord took a cautious step forward, looking about, his practice hammer gripped tightly in his hand. He flashed a hand to the left, thinking to hit an invisible target, but no dunmer took the force. The Nord looked around again, and others started forward. They didn't know that the elves were already a fair distance away, and gaining even more ground as the seconds passed.

Sakov and Drizzon were at the lead, Rotilan in back, since he had been the last one out of the room. The twenty-five elves kept a fast pace down a dim tunnel, with a torch bolted to the walls every hundred or so feet. The tunnel was tall and thin, with the top almost twenty feet up, pointed rocks dotting the rough ceiling.

The tunnel smelled damp, a smell that all of the elves picked up. Two short swords and his enchanted sword swung as Sakov ran, the long blade glowing a dim light. The quietness made Sakov uneasy as they went on, and he flinched with every sound; a sheath bouncing off the wall, a loud footstep, the sound of breathing. And still, they kept their strong pace. The walls seemed to be closing in on them, and truly, the tunnel in which they ran was indeed getting smaller the more distance they gained

The walls were made of huge blocks of stone, and the sides were wet, almost frozen. As they descended, the pressure above them seemed to grow, and Sakov could almost hear the dense silence that could determine the huge amount of pressure above them. A mist crept up at their ankles; the effect was chilling. An intersection came up, and Sakov determined that their course called for them to go left.

He turned, and leaped back, coming face to face with a skull. Heart pounding, Sakov crept forward tentatively. The skeleton was chained to the wall, which was now revealed to be a dead end, its mouth twisted, revealing pointed teeth. Drizzon moved forward, lighting a torch quickly, and stuffing the flint and steel back into a pouch on his back. The flames cracked and jumped as Drizzon moved the torch closer, creating moving shadows that leaped around the tunnel menacingly.

"What-?" Drizzon began. "Sakov, let's go, there's no time."

Sakov, tore his gaze away from the chained skeleton, and met Drizzon's gaze.

"Right." Sakov said, taking a deep breath. "Fyra, do you have the map?"

A female dunmer warrior walked up, a rolled up map clutched in her hand. She was the most skilled with directions of all the dunmer, and had made a sketchy drawing of the basic way out.

"You and Drizzon should probably lead." Sakov said, and turned, heading to the back of the group. Rotilan, who held a column of light in his hand, looked up from the stone when Sakov approached.

"Look at this." Rotilan muttered, and Sakov came closer, crouching down and looking. At first he saw nothing, but as he looked closer, he saw something small etched crudely into the ground. A small symbol of a square was carved into the stone, a small line crossing across it. He looked to Rotilan uncertainly, and Rotilan brought the column of light towards the stone, lighting the ground. The symbols were everywhere, some smaller than the first, which was only the length of half Sakov's pointer finger. And now Sakov noticed that the symbol was etched into the walls.

"What do you think it is?" Sakov asked, truly having no idea of what it represented. Rotilan, his hair hanging low over most of his face, looked closer.

"I think they are runes, or some type of ancient text. Some sort of primitive communication, perhaps."

Rotilan got to his feet, and turned to Sakov.

"How long did Rockfell say this place has been unused for?" Rotilan asked. Sakov, thought back, searching for the answer. In the end, he shrugged.

"I don't know if he said how long, he might have just said a long time." Sakov said finally. Rotilan nodded, and Sakov, noticing movement at the front of the dunmer party, turned. Valrenth, with his keen eyes, was searching the wall for something, Drizzon and Fyra looking over his shoulder.

"Got it." Valrenth said quietly, sweeping his hand back. The wall started to retreat into the ceiling, showering the elves with dust, a draft of century old air sweeping out at them.

"Let's go." Drizzon said to the elves in his serious tone, and started off. Valrenth, quiet as always, joined back into the main group.

This new tunnel was unlike anywhere Sakov had been before. The tunnel was only a little wider than one's shoulders, and only a few feet taller than a dunmer. The air was heavy and old, as though it had been rotting over time. Indeed, it was much harder to breathe than the other tunnels, and many times, a dunmer would break out into a fit of coughing from the heavy amounts of dust. And time crept on. It was a miserable time for all.

For Drizzon, always wanting things to be in control and to be one step ahead, he felt lost. Many times he would venture into the wilderness, but there, he could provide himself with food, water, and a place to sleep, along with the state of mind that he could get back to a city if need be, by following the stars, or by the sun's position. But in this tomb-like place, there was no hint at a way out. But he led on, determined, or perhaps stubborn, to find the exit.

For Rotilan, he felt a little different. He did not feel as hopeless as Drizzon, for he knew he could count on his magic, as he always did. So every time they reached a dead end, it was not a wave of despair that ran up through him, but a slight wave of annoyance. He truly felt that being in an enclosed tunnel filled with dust with no sign of a way out was more of a hassle than a reason to feel hopeless. Rotilan was not one to feel despair, he almost never felt that feeling. He felt that to despair was to give up, and deep down Rotilan knew that if they gave up, there would be no hope for any of them.

Sakov felt more like Drizzon, but most of his feelings of hopelessness were from the thought that he was the cause of this, and that if it weren't for him, than they might have been better off. But Sakov was also preoccupied. He took up the rear, and he kept an eye on the wall, finding more and more of symbols like those Rotilan had discovered. Some were much more complex, one even took up many feet it was so intricate. He had shown this one to Rotilan, but any interest Rotilan had shown before had apparently flown away. Rotilan had merely grunted and kept going, but Sakov was fascinated, but didn't have much time to wonder what had made these markings, for he had to stay with the main group.

More hours passed. Their pace had slowed considerably, and was more of a hurried walk. All of the elves felt weariness starting to creep in on their senses, clouding their minds slightly, and making their eyes close more often than before. It was obvious; the elves were tiring.

Yet, though the elves had traveled for so long, the tunnel changed little. The air was just as heavy as it had been, and the tunnel was just as thin. The only light came from Drizzon's torch and Rotilan's column of light. Sakov, still taking up the rear, went into a crouch, rubbing a finger lightly against the stone, clearing away the inch of dust that had gathered. Another part of a symbol was revealed, and Sakov swept his hand across the floor, clearing more space. And as he thought, it was another of the symbols that he had been seeing for the past half an hour. It was a single vertical line, with two lines branching off diagonally like an arrow. Around it was a half circle. Sakov looked curiously at this part of it. Every time he had seen this arrow symbol, the shape around it had shortened. At first a whole circle had been around the arrow, now, only a half an arrow.

Determined not to hinder the progress of the rest of the dunmer, he had kept this observation to himself. He did not want to seem childish, for in fact, he was the youngest of all the elves, and though he was respected, he had seen a few of the elves give him an annoyed glance when he had kneeled down to inspect the symbols, curiosity on his face. But Sakov, though he may not have been as wise as some of his companions, told himself that there was more to these symbols than just a random finding, which Rotilan seemed to think.

He did realize that he may have not been acting as determined and gruff as the others, and that he may be seeming a little too eager to learn more, but truthfully, as he thought about it, over the last few weeks and months he had almost been forced to act as though he was as old and experienced as the others, and now that Sakov thought about it, he had not felt truly happy in a long time. It was not as though these symbols made Sakov happy in any way, but this made him realize for the first time it seemed, that he had not been happy since… it was hard to remember. He remembered some times with Savon and Dalvane he had felt cheerful, but now, he felt overwhelmed. The elves around him had treated him like a leader, though he was only half the age of most of the elves, or a third. To a dunmer, he was a full adult, but compared to many other dark elves, he was young. They expected him to be able to be like his father, perhaps.

And then, a wave of emotion like almost never before rose up within him, and silent tears, hidden from view under his hood began to cascade down his face, tapping quietly against the stone, washing away more of the dirt from the stone floor. He was away from Dalvane, and Savon, his parents who had raised him so well. He missed them so, and under his own tough facade over the past few weeks, he had blocked out most emotion, thinking himself to be a tough warrior, having experience beyond his years. He cried silently for his home, for Vivec and the tall buildings he had grown so used to. He cried for himself, for his companions, that they might die a terrible death of starvation in a place unused for centuries perhaps, never to be known again. His arms shook, and he brought his dirty hands to his face, his tears making his hands damp.

He thought of his days as a child, of those days of coming home from the school where they learned, and he remembered being greeted by a steaming bowl of soup, seeing his wise father and his kind mother waiting to have dinner with him. And he remembered the joy of life, not knowing of the problems that the land faced. He let it all out, and it took him a long while before he realized that he was not alone. He sensed someone in front of him, watching his tears break upon the ground, watching his hunched form. Sakov, tears still running freely down his face like a quiet river, looked up, and saw the face of Rotilan. For the first time in a long time, Sakov could see that Rotilan was confused, and uncertain.

"Sakov?"

The word rang in Sakov's ears, and Sakov started to get to his feet hastily.

"We-we should probably get going." Sakov said, his voice only shaking slightly. He started to turn, but Rotilan didn't move. Sakov tried not to meet his gaze, but Rotilan could see that his eyes were slightly wet.

"What is it?" Rotilan asked firmly, and Sakov still looked to the side.

"N-nothing, Rotilan." Sakov said, starting to regain control of himself. He wanted to keep going, but Rotilan spoke before Sakov could move.

"What do you fear?" Rotilan asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

"I-I…" Sakov began, but his tone showed Rotilan clearly.

"You are afraid for your family." Rotilan stated, and Sakov finally met his calm gaze, Sakov looking uneasy.

"No." Sakov said truthfully. "Not just th-that. I… miss them, I miss being home."

Those were the words Sakov had feared to say, had feared would make Rotilan think he was weak. But Sakov also felt that he could be honest with Rotilan, and it would do no good to try and not tell him the truth.

"Yes, I see." Rotilan said, his voice free of the sarcastic tone that sometimes accompanied it. "You are not yet as old as I, and have no shame to feel that way."

Sakov looked around.

"I feel, like I have been acting a certain way recently, like I couldn't show emotion, I thought others might think… that I was weak."

Rotilan nodded, but he smiled slightly.

"No, after all that has happened, they would not think you were weak." Rotilan said kindly. "But come, we must go. The others are ahead, and there is still ground left ahead of us."

And together, with Sakov's spirits less troubled than they had in a while, even though Rotilan had not said much, they walked on.

They caught up with the group ten minutes later, and saw Drizzon bang his hand against a stone wall ahead.

"No!" Drizzon yelled. And then Sakov saw, it was a dead end. Not yet believing it, he walked forward, the dust making his steps softer than usual. He looked to the walls, running his hands against them like Valrenth had done before, searching for something that would lead them on. And then he started to feel something bumpy. Moving his hand against the stone, he swept the dust away, revealing a symbol larger than any of the others. It was two squares side by side, a little bit of space separating them. Jagged lines scraped around the edge, making the symbol almost look like a star.

Determined, Sakov pushed his hand against it, but to no avail. The wall was as solid as before. Sakov, still hopeful, went around the room, searching the wall. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Fyra?" He asked. "Where does your map say we are?"

Fyra unrolled the map, and pointed down upon a small line she had drawn. She had drawn in so it ended, but she had also drawn a small square at the end of the line.

"What's this?" Sakov asked. Fyra peered closer, looking to where Sakov pointed.

"I think it's supposed to be some sort of entrance, but I don't know."

Sakov was already moving, going to the other side of the wall. Now, thoughts were bouncing around his head crazily, and excitement was building within him.

_What if those arrow symbols were pointing here, to the exit!_ Sakov thought. He ran his hands around, sweeping off dust. And then, a small bump, almost unnoticeable ran under his fingers. Sakov looked closer. The bump was a square rock, and with his keen eyes, Sakov could make out a symbol etched upon the end. With more and more excitement building up, he reached out a hand, and pressed firmly upon the rock. Confusion erupted; dust flew everywhere, and Sakov couldn't see, and then, it stopped. Sakov felt something cold and fresh leak into the room, and he turned.

The symbol showing the two squares had retreated up into the ceiling, and beyond it was the source of the coldness. Sakov walked forward tentatively, the other elves watching. A hole was now in the wall, just big enough for Sakov to fit through. Sakov poked his head out, and almost cried out in happiness. A great pine tree rose up before him, and instead of the rock ceiling they had grown used to, there was an endless ceiling, filled with stars. The crisp night air flew into his lungs, and Sakov rolled out into the snow, the cold not bothering him. He looked behind him, seeing the small opening that more elves were coming from now. And beyond it, in the distance, only a few miles away, the great Ice tower rose up, and even it was a welcome sight. The other elves looked around in wonder as well, and Sakov turned back, hope returning to his heart, and he felt finally, he was free, not of only the Nords, but of that tough identity he had created. Now, it was time to return to Morrowind.

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated if you feel like it. I'll try to take less time on the next chapter. I'm not sure who it's going to be about, but it will probably be Twal. Thanks again for reading!**


	23. The Sewers

Author's note:

Hello, I decided not to make the author's note bold this time. Anyway, sorry for the wait for this chapter.

The pain that shot up his legs as he walked along the slippery stone was a reminder of what he had been through, and what was still to come. Dark clouds shot across the sky above, then turned and continued their circle above the city. Heavy droplets of rain crashed down from the sky in bursts. Lightning cracked every now and then, lighting the sky in a brilliant burst of light.

The dark elf was hooded and wore a black cloak, along with dark clothing, with leather bands and pads across his clothes. But no one paid him any attention, for no one was there. Hidden slightly at his hip was a slightly curved long blade, with a short blade next to it. Many daggers were hidden, and each would be close enough to reach within a second. The dark elf walked up to a rotting wooden door that had once stood proud, and pushed it hard, and in the end had to kick it hard with his leather boot to open it.

The inside of the waterworks was just as dreary. Once, many traders and commoners had stood around, talking, buying, and relaxing. But now, the only other person in the area was a well-armed dunmer guard, an Ordinator, who stood at the ready, a spear in her hands.

"Your purpose?" She asked as the door behind the dark elf who was entering closed shut.

"A meeting," Said the other dunmer. "With the captain of the Ordinators, Varoc."

She eyed him suspiciously, and put the spear against his back as the dark elf started to descend the stairs.

"Who are you?" She asked. The dark elf turned.

"Twal." He said, and without any further waiting, he took the remaining steps in two light steps. The dunmer Ordinator turned around again, keeping watch on the door. Twal removed his hood now, wincing slightly from the pain of his leg, but it was definitely improving.

The silence around him made him a little nervous, but he had been trained for years to hear the slightest sound and too see the slightest movement, and if any had moved to attack him, Twal would be ahead of them.

He walked swiftly to another door, this one was not as rotten, and pushed it open, and it creaked loudly, the sound carrying all around. Stone stairs led him downward into a similar area as before.

A slight dripping noise kept his gaze snapping to the side every few seconds, an instinct he had gathered over years of expecting attacks when all was silent. The tunnel in which he now walked was made of a tan rock, sturdy and tough, and Twal's footsteps barely made a whisper against it.

Twal turned a bend, and took another set of stairs in a few long strides, which took him into a larger room. He was in the canal works, which were connected to the water works. The ceiling stretched up high into darkness, the light of the torches unable to reach up that high.

A trap door was positioned on the floor, near the side opposite Twal. The handle was large and rusty, as though it had been there a long time. The floor was wet from the occasional time someone would some up from the sewers below, trailing water from their damp clothes. The last time someone had come up had been a long time ago, but the water had nowhere to evaporate to very soon.

Twal was not the only one in the room. Two other dark elves stood near the trap door, each one very different than the other. One was much smaller than the other, and was clad in a thick cloak, a low hood shadowing his face. From what one could tell from his skin, it appeared to almost be pure black. He wore leather greaves and boots and a dark shirt that blended in with his dark cloak. This dark elf had a bow strapped to his back with a quiver of arrows beside it, while a short sword hung on his belt.

The other dark elf was much different. The other was unnaturally tall for a dunmer, and also much more muscular than the usual dark elf. His skin was a dark blue, and his clothing was much different. He wore a suit of fine armor, colors of gold and blue woven together. A cape of deep blue hung on his back, a hood up over his head. Two long swords hung on his belt, and a short spear was strapped to his back by a thick leather band.

Twal took a few steps forward, his footsteps echoing around the room. The tall dark elf took a step forward and lowered his hood.

"Twal." He greeted, and Twal lowered his damp hood.

"Varoc." Twal said quietly back. Varoc nodded slightly and raised his eyebrows.

"Anything?" Asked Varoc, and Twal shook his head, a few drops of water dripping to the ground.

"I've been looking and watching. No sign of anything out of the ordinary." Twal laughed grimly. "Well, apart from the endless dark skies and the absence of dunmer on the streets. I've heard that the leader of the council and another Telvanni councilor have each arrived to Vivec, but I know not of their location."

"And the citizens are still-?" Varoc began.

"At the temple district, along with most of the Ordinators." Twal interrupted. "As you know."

Varoc nodded, and Twal took a step forward, looking to the smaller elf.

"Benzyl?" Twal asked, and Benzyl shook his head.

"I haven't found anything either, but I think I might have heard something down in the sewers last night." Benzyl said quietly. "I thought I heard some footsteps. And no, I didn't go down to see what it was." Benzyl said quickly as Twal began to ask a question.

Twal looked around as a sound of the scraping of wood echoed around the room. Varoc was on his knees, grasping two wooden beams that were bolted above the trap door.

"We're going down?" asked Twal, and Varoc nodded, and with a final pull, the two wooden beams snapped off the door, and Varoc tossed them lightly into the corner.

Next, Varoc pulled out his four-foot spear, and held it in his left hand while he grasped the rusty handle of the trapdoor with his right.

"This might be a little hard to open." Varoc said in a quiet voice. "Keep a weapon ready, will you?"

Twal nodded and drew out his sword, while Benzyl swung out his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Varoc looked back to the trapdoor and started to pull, and for a few seconds, nothing moved. All was silent in the room, and Varoc began to breathe harder. He pulled as hard as his muscles would allow, and yet, that pull that could bend iron, did not come through for him. He released the iron handle and slammed the wooden door with his fist. A soft rattle was distinguishable, and Varoc pressed his ear to the trapdoor.

"Chains are holding it." Varoc said to the others, and brought his head up. He gripped the spear in both hands and shot a glance at the other two.

"So let's try this." Mumbled Varoc, and he raised up the spear and stabbed down. The well-made spear sunk deep into the wood, and Varoc pressed down harder, and when he felt the spear was deep enough, he started to pull up. This time, the door clearly started to pull up, and the sound chains were easier to hear now. Twal gripped his sword tighter and watched as the door began to follow Varoc's will. Varoc tugged harder, and the trapdoor hovered one inch above the ground. Varoc pulled harder, and his smile was one of victory as the trapdoor began to come up even faster. Then the door stopped moving as the chains held fast.

Twal gaped as he looked at the visible chains, for there were so many chains that it was near impossible to distinguish a single one. Still, Varoc did not relent, but his strength was not enough, and in the end, he released his spear and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths.

Benzyl kept an arrow drawn, but peered at the chains, as did Varoc as he realized how many there were.

"They don't want us down there." Varoc said, taking two more deep breaths. But he looked at the others, and a small grin could be seen on his face.

"But we'll beat them."

Twal raised his eyebrows, and Varoc took up his stuck spear and jerked it in a sudden movement, ripping it free. He placed it under the trap door, so if he pushed down on the end of the spear, it would push the trapdoor up. Varoc held the spear at his chest, and he grasped the worn handle of the spear firmly, then pulled down. The chains snapped to their full length as the trapdoor began to rise up. Varoc pulled harder, and Twal saw clearly that the chains were weakening. As if responding to Twal, a chain suddenly snapped and came loose from its hold upon the trapdoor, and it clattered downward. With the loss of one chain, the trapdoor came up even farther, almost far enough for Twal to fit into.

Another chain snapped angrily, and Varoc, eyes set firmly upon the trapdoor, gave a final pull, and two more chains came loose. The trap door flew back out of the opening, slamming against the ground and almost taking Varoc with it. His well-made spear hadn't bent at all during the process, and Varoc slung it back over his back. Twal sheathed his sword, but Benzyl kept his bow out as he eyed the opening into the sewers.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Benzyl asked quietly to Varoc. Varoc waved a hand.

"Yes, we'll be fine." Varoc said, not really paying attention to what Benzyl was saying. And to prove his point, Varoc went down first, grasping the rusty ladder for support. Twal started to make a movement to shrug to Benzyl, but he stopped and hopped down lightly after Varoc, making much less noise. Benzyl in the end followed, but kept his bow in one hand as he lowered himself into the sewers.

It was silent. Some thieves used to live down in the sewers, but they had left. A week old tray of food lying next to a cot showed that the thieves were eager to be out in a hurry, not taking everything with them. The two Morag Tong members barely made a noise, and used the shadows to their advantage, but Varoc walked forward boldly, never doubting his skill in battle. The water was dark and almost motionless. Every sound was like a footstep of a Dark Brotherhood assassin to Twal and Benzyl.

Only small amounts of light could enter, and it did little to break the cloud of darkness that hung over the area. There was an ominous feeling to the place, as though the place was dead. The walls were cracked in many places, but the three paid no attention to that fact.

After the first minute of silent walking, a loud sound was heard in the distance, echoing through the tunnels. Varoc swiftly unsheathed his swords, and Twal drew his long and short blade, his long blade in his right hand and the short in his left. Benzyl pulled an arrow back, taking aim for the darkness ahead.

Little did they know, the darkness was watching them. Two red eyes peeked out from a tunnel behind the three dunmer. An evil smile spread over his face as he snuck into another patch of darkness.

Varoc looked back to the other two, his face looking slightly panicky.

"You stay here." He told them, and leaped into the tunnel ahead, his cape flapping behind him. Benzyl looked to Twal, and drew back the string of his bow more. Silent seconds passed, without any sign of Varoc.

"Do you think we should-?" began Twal, but a fierce roar and the sound of steel against steel interrupted him. Benzyl took off, silent as darkness, and Twal was about to follow when he sensed something. Relying on his instincts, Twal ducked, and a dagger flew over his head and crashed against the wall. Twal scrambled back, tearing his cloak as it got stuck in a crack. In one fluid motion Twal sheathed his short blade and drew a dagger, throwing it into the darkness ahead of him. The dagger spun and crashed against stone, but Twal was on his feet again, short sword drawn. A shadow began to lengthen, and as if out of nowhere, a figure stepped out in front of Twal.

"I have heard of you, master assassin." The figure said, their voice soft and cold. The figure took a step forward, two dark blades appearing in his hands.

Twal said nothing. The figure stepped closer. For a split second the figure seemed to become the darkness, but Twal's eyes kept track of the figure closely.

"A shame." The figure said. "You have so much potential. It is such a loss that you must die."

"Who are you?" Twal finally growled, and the figure laughed, a cold sound, one that made the hairs on the back of Twal's neck stand up.

"I am of a similar trade, assassin." The figure said. "One who will one day know honor like none you have ever known. I am the better! YOU ARE WEAK!"

Twal took a step back at the sudden ferocity. The figure followed Twal closely.

"They call me Vilhir Traith." The figure said, calm again. Without warning Vilhir lunged with one blade, and Twal turned, sliding a blade against Vilhir's to keep the blade away. Twal snapped a foot up, aiming for Vilhir's hand, but Vilhir leaped back. Dim light flashed over Vilhir's face. His face was gaunt, and his eyes were thin. His eyebrows were thin as well, and his hair was long and dark. A black cloak was fitted over his shoulders, a cloak that as it moved, seemed to flow with the darkness.

Twal heard a yell, and turned for a split second. Vilhir kicked at Twal, but Twal was expecting an attack, and he turned out of harm's way. Twal realized he was being backed toward the water, and he knew what Vilhir was trying to do. A plan formed in his mind as he parried two more attacks. He stepped back toward the water, and Vilhir came forward, blocking any area to escape. Twal readied himself, and as he guessed, the attack came. Twal began to maneuver to dodge, but saw the real attack, not from Vilhir's blade, but from his fist coming strait at Twal. Twal leapt back over the water, and his boots slid over the slippery stone on the other side. He quickly regained balance, and saw Vilhir standing calmly on the other side of the water.

They both turned as a yell, closer now, broke through all other noises.

"Get out! Run! Run!"

The reason for the yell came a second later, as a loud cracking noise filled the area. Twal almost gasped as he saw a crack spreading across the ceiling in front of him. Vilhir saw it too, and yelled in fury as everything came crashing down. Dust was everywhere, and Twal saw Vilhir's figure slip into the darkness again. Twal leaped to the side as a chunk of ceiling came down on where he had been a second before. It was if the whole world had been turned upside down. Rock and dust were everywhere, and Twal felt himself being catapulted to the side as something crashed against him.

It was another elf, and Twal saw it was Varoc, and Benzyl was right behind.

"Sprint!" Varoc yelled, and Twal needed no further urging. Together, the three sprinted down a rubble filled tunnel, as the ceiling behind them crashed down. The three knew that if they stopped for one second they would be crushed, and so they never halted. They didn't know where they were going; the only thing they cared about was getting out alive.

A wide crack had spread in the ceiling ahead, and Twal saw what was coming a second before it did.

"Turn!" Twal yelled in desperation, and obediently, the other two fell to the side as the ceiling thundered in. They were off again, and they knew there couldn't be much more ground left to cover.

And then, there it was, the thin ladder that led up to the city. Varoc leapt up, thrusting himself up through the opening. Benzyl jumped, and then Twal jumped. His fingers grasped the opening, and his muscles threw him up and over the edge. He pushed away from the opening, as the rock around it began to collapse. Twal watched the collapse come closer.

The collapse hit the stronger structure of the upper city, and with a final thundering collapse, it stopped. Dust started to settle, and the three elves stood in shock, none speaking.

The Ordinator above came sprinting down, spear ready to throw, but when she saw the three elves, and the hole that led to the sewers, she gasped.

"How?" She asked. Varoc took a step away from the hole.

"I don't know." Varoc admitted. "But I do know that we met the Dark Brotherhood."

"They're down there?" The Ordinator asked. Varoc nodded.

"We need everyone to get to the temple." Varoc said. "Everyone. Ordinators too."

The Ordinator nodded, and started back up the stairs. Varoc turned back to the other two, both who were staring into the darkness.

"Come." Varoc said. "We must go."

Below them, miles away, a dunmer approached a tall figure respectfully, and bowed.

"Master." Vilhir said. The master turned to Vilhir.

"You survived." The master stated. Vilhir bowed.

"I am not killed easily."

The master strode to the other side of the dark room, and turned back to Vilhir, watching the assassin carefully.

"They have come to the sewers?" The master asked, and Vilhir nodded.

"They have."

An eager expression came over the master's face.

"It is time." Said the master, not hiding his eagerness. "Bring together our forces. We will finally destroy this city."

Vilhir nodded, and the master knew their victory was coming. It was not long now.

Author's Note:

I hope you liked it. Reviews are always appreciated.


	24. The Battle Begins

Author's Note:

Hello! I got this chapter done fairly quickly, so I hope I can continue to do that. I hope you like the chapter. Thanks to those who have read this story and reviewed, and thanks to Voration for keeping up with this story and reviewing!

Also, If you saw the review that is supposedly posted by "myself", know that it is my dad, and he was reviewing that chapter. :)

Imperial Planes

3:00 A.M.

There was a disturbance in the Orc encampment. A lone figure had been spotted across the planes, walking in their direction. All evidence pointed to a dark elf or a redguard, so as the figure neared, there were over one hundred weapons steered their way. But the visitor was no dark elf or redguard.

He wore robes the color of blood, and his face was a sneer as he looked at the Orcs. A long sword hung on his leather belt, along with several pouches of unknown ingredients. A power emitted from him, a power not unlike the power that had emitted from a certain dark elf that has visited their camp before.

The robed figure was obviously human, a Breton, as it seemed, but his towering figure seemed taller than the norm of Breton society.

All activities within the camp were halted, and several Orc lieutenants were called over, along with a few Nord lieutenants.

"Get Gogran." Said one of Gogran's chief advisors. Another smaller Orc saluted and ran off, headed for Gogran's tent. Gogran had arrived back from the ambushing group an hour before to direct the Orcs before the attack.

Meanwhile, the Breton stood unconcerned, considering there were over one hundred weapons trained on him. He was either very confident, or he overestimated himself.

Horns in the distance signaled that Gogran was coming, and finally the Breton turned attentively to the line of Orcs coming their way. Gogran was in the middle, towering above all the other figures. His armor was cut off from his biceps to his gauntlets, his muscles showing his unrivaled strength. Gogran was an intimidating figure to be sure, yet the Breton stood calmly as Gogran stepped up to him, hammer within a second's reach on his back.

"Ah, Gogran." The Breton said, as though they were discussing what flavor of tea to have. Gogran glared down at the Breton, usually it was him who started the conversation.

"You act as though I should know you." Growled Gogran, his eyes narrowed. The Breton chuckled.

"You should." The Breton said, still chuckling. Gogran did not find it amusing.

"Perhaps I should." Said the Orc. "But perhaps you should tell me."

The Breton chuckled again, that same chuckle that showed he knew more than Gogran. The Breton snapped a finger, producing a flame from thin air.

"A mage?" Gogran grunted. "I would not remember you."

"Not any mage." The Breton said and then laughed, a cold cruel laugh. "I am Ron the Barbare, foolish Orc."

Realization came over Gogran's face. Ron saw Gogran's hand twitch toward his hammer.

"Why are you here?" Gogran growled threateningly. Ron, all amusement gone from his face, glared back.

"Because I want to see the dark elves defeated, the redguards beaten." Ron said quietly. "And I want to beat Savon, myself."

It was Gogran's turn to laugh, and it was a laugh that many behind Gogran shared, not because they understood what Gogran was laughing at, but because they feared what would happen to them if they didn't.

"You assume much." Gogran snorted. "You assume that you, a weak mage, will be able to help take down a force of strength you cannot imagine."

"Weak?" Ron sneered. "You cannot imagine power, you have never had power."

Ron shot a hand forward, and blasted Gogran off his feet. As Gogran fell back, he reached for his hammer, but Ron froze him in place with another spell.

"I will help you." Ron growled. "Do not refuse my offer."

The many Orcs wielding weapons almost fired, but a hand from Gogran stopped them.

"I will not refuse your offer." Said Gogran, getting to his feet. "But know that you will likely die."

Ron took a step past Gogran, then turned halfway back, his narrowed eyes glinting.

"We shall see." He said, and he walked into the encampment.

Dalvane looked out at the dark Imperial City, wondering where Savon was. She knew he wasn't dead, but she was worried for him. She had a bow slung over one shoulder, and a quiver of fine arrows next to the bow. She had taken a position at the newly made watchtower.

The morning was coming, and the torches around her flickered in the slight breeze. She looked out at the Orc encampment, a black stain upon the landscape. She heard voices and turned, watching Stal walk from his tent in a hurry, several scrolls in hand. She hopped down to the ground and jogged over.

"What's the plan?" She asked immediately. Stal looked up.

"I don't know if there's time to explain the whole-," He started to say, but Dalvane cut him off.

"Then simplify it." Dalvane interrupted. Stal sighed. Usually, if someone who had the rank of common soldier came and asked for what the plan was, he wouldn't tell them, but Dalvane wasn't just a common soldier, and he knew she would keep bugging him about it.

"We're attacking." Stal said. Dalvane gestured for him to go on. Stal sighed again.

"We had planned to only launch a minor attack, one to get the Imperials through, but-,"

"What?" Dalvane interrupted sharply.

"We're launching our main attack." Stal said. "But really, I must go. I have to discuss some events with the redguards."

Dalvane nodded, but her mind was working furiously. She reached a hand to her blade and a grim smile spread over her face.

Meanwhile Stal kept up a swift walk. He was tired; he had not slept for a day. But this meeting was crucial; the redguards had to agree to the final plans before they could proceed with the attack. The ground was damp from a light rain, and Stal's boots became muddy as he ran.

The redguard tents were west to the dark elf tents, and Stal took up a jog, and walked into the redguard commander's tent. The redguard seemed to be waiting for Stal, and she was outfitted in full steel armor, obviously ready for battle.

"You have heard?" Asked Stal, and she nodded.

"I am ready to prepare the redguard forces, and ready to push the Orcs and Nords out of this land." The commander said confidently. Stal nodded; relieved that his meeting would not be long.

"I have most of my forces at the ready." Stal said, and bowed. "We march in two hours."

She nodded, and Stal left, already planning the way his forces would be arranged. The tents he passed were leather and tough, and many had small streams of smoke coming from small fires within. He looked out at the Imperial City, and hoped Savon was ready.

Savon was. He and Tapan had arranged the Imperial forces, and now, Savon stood on top of the Palace Wall, looking out at the dark mass of enemy forces. He was getting nervous.

Dark clouds foretold a storm, and gusts of wind assaulted his position up high.

_It is so peaceful now. _

The thought crossed through his head, and he didn't disagree with it. It was always like this. It was quiet and still, the peace before the war. A raindrop splashed against his face, and Savon looked up into the clouds, wondering what the future would bring.

The army of the Orcs and Nords was huge. Never before had Savon witnessed such an army. He couldn't believe that in a few hours, he could be in the middle of that mass, fighting to survive.

The Orc and Nord area was set up into three sections. Two of the sections were side by side, off to the side of the main army. These two sections were the encampments of the Orcs and Nords, which consisted of tents. The last section was the area in which the army was positioned. This section stretched from a half a mile from the dark elf camp, all the way to the Imperial City, and within. The width of the army appeared to almost be a mile wide. That army would be like a huge rock, Savon though to himself, and the attacking forces would only be like water.

But there was no turning back, no waiting. The time had come. He stretched, and climbed carefully back down to where the Imperials waited. The decision had been made that the men and women who weren't fighting, and any children, would stay in the secret tunnels under the palace. There were too many Orcs and Nords to risk having the non-fighters travel in the middle of the group of fighting Imperials as planned. No, what would happen would be that they would stay along with a group of soldiers. They would hide in a secret tunnel with much food and water, where no Orcs and Nords could find them. And then they would wait it out.

Savon leaped over a three-foot wall easily, landing beside Tapan. Tapan gripped his sword tightly.

"Are you ready, Savon?" Tapan said, his eyes set ahead. "Let us show these invaders the road home."

Savon nodded, and he too gripped the hilt of Dal Kav. Many minutes passed as they stood silently. Tapan started strapping extra weapons to his belt, just in case he lost his sword, or so he could throw them.

Savon looked to the Imperials. They were nervous, and it was clear. Each of the Imperials had lost a friend to the Orcs and Nords, and each had gone through hardships. But anger was also clear on their faces, an anger that Savon thought would probably explode when they reached battle.

The Imperials were clad in legion armor, all of them. For the first fight against the Orcs and Nords, they had mostly worn the armor of their cities, but now they would fight as one, no longer broken into cities, or areas. They were all Imperials, and they were fighting to save their race. The first line of Imperials carried short pikes, and the next line carried long pikes. They used these two lines like this so when they reached battle, the first line would hold the enemy off, while the second line attacked safely from behind with their long weapons. The third line carried swords, and the last four lines carried bows and swords, to support the whole group. But since they would likely be surrounded on all sides by enemies, the two first spear lines extended around the whole group, to keep the archers safe while they sent their arrows soaring in.

Savon moved forward beside Captain Matius, and together they directed the group into a triangle formation within the lines. This formation was strong, for the three sides allowed the group to wedge into the enemy lines. But there was a weakness. The two or three Imperials holding each point had to be able to hold it, otherwise, the Orcs could break one point quickly, and kill the archers or others inside the front lines swiftly.

For this reason, Savon was placed with another Imperial on one point, Captain Matius and a female Imperial, Commander Frelian, were on the second point, and Tapan and another Imperial held the last point.

Finally, with less than an hour left, they were ready, and a light rain began to fall.

Gogran walked quickly through the tents, a smaller Orc jogging to keep up.

"You say they are gathering their armies now?" Gogran asked. The scout nodded.

"All the redguards and elves is what I see." The scout said quickly. "They ready for battle, my eyes see it, they have weapons, sharp, long, short-,"

"I know that they have weapons." Gogran interrupted impatiently. "Go now and tell the Nord Commander that they are attacking, and to make sure all the army is ready."

The scout nodded and took off like an arrow, a long dagger on his hip swinging as he ran. Gogran tightened a band holding on his right shoulder armor, and walked swiftly back to his tent. The Orcs around him scrambled to get to the main army, carrying huge weapons with them. He saw two trained ogres carrying a catapult, while a group of Orcs behind carried boulders for it.

Gogran swept the flap of his tent aside, and went forward to a wooden table in the center. A display of the some of the finest made weapons in Tamriel sat there. There were axes, swords, crossbows, and more, all crafted expertly. Gogran grabbed a heavy spear that felt light in his hands, and strapped it to his back. He grabbed two huge axes as well, each one which would have usually been used as a two handed weapon for an Orc, but for strong Gogran, would be a one handed weapon.

And of course, his hammer was already on his back. He never left it. He grabbed it off his back and examined it. The hammer could deliver fire to an enemy whenever Gogran wished it. It was worth more than most castles, that was how finely made it was. Gogran put it back on his shoulder and turned to the tent flap. He walked through, and started walking for the army, his place on the front lines, as it always was.

Ron the Barbare quickly poured the steaming liquid into the bottle, and capped it. He placed it inside his robes, and started on another potion, knowing he had to get out there soon. But Ron was calm, for he believed himself stronger than Savon.

This new potion, a healing potion, took a minute longer to make than the last one, but he still finished it quickly. He put the cap on the bottle, and deposited the bottle in a pocket of his robe.

Ron walked to the other side of his tent, and grabbed a pile of chainmail armor. Usually, he went without armor, but in war, he wore it. He placed a chest plate on, then the shoulder armor, and last the leg armor and boots. He decided to not wear gauntlets, for he wanted his hands to be free to move easily. Last, he grabbed his sword, and a light shield that was perfect for blocking magical attacks.

Ron left his newly set up tent, and he too, like Gogran, went to the front lines. The Orcs and Nords were ready, with the Orcs in front carrying ten-foot pikes. The line behind them carried huge axes to get any enemies that got past the deadly pikes. The lines behind that varied, with some line consisting of archers and axe wielders. There was no doubt, the Orcs and Nords were ready.

Stal looked out at the army ahead that they were about to fight, and he set his jaw in grim determination. The enemy had more warriors, but they weren't fighting for a purpose as much as the Imperials, redguards, and dark elves.

The ground was becoming wetter as the light rain came down. The sky was gray, and the wind was almost always constant.

Stal turned back to the army in front of him. He was the most respected commander in Morrowind, the winner of over fifty battles, and now, he faced his toughest battle yet. The dark elves were calm and ready, their weapons resting easily in their hands.

Stal looked to the front line and saw Dalvane there, gripping her sword tightly. Stal looked to the redguard force beside the dunmer force. They wore steel armor mostly, while the elves wore mithril and chainmail, along with some lighter steel. The redguards were to try and break into the corner of the Nord and Orc force, and then, the dunmer could smash their forces through a thinner line to their side to reunite with the redguards, and from there, they would have about half of their forces deeper in the enemy lines, while the other half would be farther back. This way, they would be able to attack from two different angles, and put the Orcs and Nords on the defensive. They didn't want to split their forces too much, but they hoped that this strategy would work well, and wouldn't work against them.

Stal motioned to the redguard commander, and she came forward, and nodded to Stal.

"Redguards!" She yelled, and the redguards yelled back, raising their weapons in the air. "Today we are not only fighting for the Imperials, but also to save our own homes from this threat. When your arms tire, or you find yourself near death, keep fighting back, and do not let your attacks end. We shall drive into their forces like an arrow, with speed and force, and we will drive them out of this land!"

Her last words were greeted by a cheer, and Stal came forward.

"You have come from your homes," Stal said loudly. "You have come to help a dying race. Let us fight well today, and know you have helped save a race. Swing your swords swiftly, and let your bows strike fast. We march!"

Stal raised his sword, and the elves shook their weapons, and did the redguards. Stal swung his sword forward, and for a second, Stal realized that the battle was about to happen.

"CHARGE!" Stal roared. The air was filled with the sound of boots against the ground as the force of redguards and dunmer charged forward in a wild rush. The Orcs and Nords grinned in excitement, and they roared. The ground between the groups was closing. Stal took his place near the front, his legs swinging fast, his sword raised high. The force of the enemy was clearer now, and Stal could see their pikes lowered. The distance closed more. The forces were only twenty feet apart, and then, they collided. It was like the ground itself had erupted. Swords swung wildly, and pikes stabbed hard.

The crash of steel, the roars of anger, and the hum of arrows filled the air. The battle had begun.


	25. The Riders of the King

Author's note:

Sorry for the long wait. When I was writing this chapter, it was actually a lot longer, but I didn't like the writing quality in the rest of the chapter as much as the first part, so I decided to make the first part of the chapter a whole chapter. It's still pretty long, and I think I'll save the rest of what I wrote for the next chapter with these characters. Thanks to those who are reading, and also thanks to those who are reviewing.

End of Author's Note

The temperature was many degrees below freezing, and the wind howled its song, a song of eeriness. The dark sky was clear, and the night was filled with countless stars. Indeed, it was a beautiful night in Skyrim.

But it was not appreciated by the group of dark elves. They were bent over in the wind, and they all wanted nothing more than to rest, but not while they were close to any Nord town. Truthfully, none of the elves would prefer to sleep in Skyrim at all. But the journey would be long, and they didn't know the quickest route, and they would have to rest, but not so near to the Nord City.

Drizzon had taken the lead along with Fyra, the two with the most experience with directions and maps. Drizzon kept them moving fast, faster than most would prefer to move when rested, but Drizzon would take no chances.

Even if Rotilan had used a tiring spell on Drizzon, the stubborn dark elf would probably keep the pace strong.

The footing of the land was hard to walk on, especially since two feet of snow covered the ground. Along with the two feet of snow, deep drifts kept the dunmer falling every so often into snow that was deeper than they thought it would be. And there was also the fact that they were not dressed warmly enough for the trip, and the cold bit at their skin, its icy fangs digging in more when the dunmer fell in the snow.

Sakov led the back of the group with Rotilan, and they kept on the lookout for any scouts the Nords might have sent. The threat of the Nords coming after them was huge, and Rotilan kept casting many spells to detect life that was within the mile. But there was nothing.

The snow crunched under Sakov's worn boots, and as another strike of wind attacked, he pulled his hood lower over his face, blocking some of the bite. The snow sparkled with the light of the stars; the small crystals twinkled brightly in the darkness. Rotilan chanted softly beside Sakov, his hands glowing, and for a brief moment, a bright glow filled the area as Rotilan used another spell. He gazed about for a few seconds, before running to catch up.

"Nothing?" Asked Sakov, and Rotilan shook his head, shaking snow off his hood.

"I sense nothing." Rotilan muttered, only loud enough for Sakov to hear.

As the trip continued on, Rotilan used a spell to give off some heat to warm the freezing elves, but it was only a minor respite. Huge evergreens rose out of the snow, their huge branches waving in the gusts of wind, shaking more snow to the ground.

"I hope we make it back." Sakov said as he looked out at the stars, stars he wondered if people in Morrowind gazed upon. Rotilan looked at Sakov.

"We will." Assured the mage. "I just hope we make it back soon, cause this cold-,"

But he was cut off by a horn, one that droned through the landscape, one that placed dread in all the elves' hearts. It was the horn of the riders of the king.

The riders of the king were an ancient group, a group that the elves had heard of many times in their time as gladiators. The knights were only the strongest of Nords, the cruelest and most merciless humans in Tamriel, a group that had destroyed more towns and settlements in their history than the current number of knights.

_They're coming._ Sakov thought as a pang of panic shot through him. He looked back toward where the sound came from, but the darkness was too thick to see anything. _They're coming…_

Drizzon fought his way through the snow to the middle of the elves, and yelled over the wind, "That's their horn, they must have figured out we're gone! Now I want every elf to pick up the speed, because we've got to cover more miles fast, and get out of the range of their kingdom. Keep your eyes open for a good hiding spot, because we can't outrun them, and I'm sure there are too many to fight. Move it!"

Their pace was doubled, and the horn sounded again. Sakov glanced over his shoulder in fear, expecting to see shadowy figures coming charging towards them. Adrenaline shot through his body, and he didn't feel the cold, or even notice himself tiring. And time went on. Half an hour passed, an hour, and after the horn sounded a third time, closer now, Drizzon melted away into the darkness, going to check over a nearby hill to see his he could see any sign of the riders.

Fyra took the lead, and kept Drizzon's pace going. The trees all around them were not as tall as before, and Sakov knew they were gaining altitude. The wind howled even louder, as if determined to stop the dark elves.

Sakov ran on, extending his legs to cover as much ground as possible. He kept on hand close to his doubled bladed sword. He heard noise behind him, and turned, his sword sliding out of its sheath with a ring. But it was only Drizzon, moving fast and hard, glaring in determination. Sakov sheathed his sword quickly, trying to get up to where Drizzon was.

"Any sign of the riders?" Sakov yelled over the wind as they ran. Drizzon turned his head.

"They're swarming the mountainside!" Drizzon yelled back. "At least a thousand!"

Sakov felt his blood freeze, as though the wind had gripped his heart. He shook off the fear, shooting a last glance over his shoulder before sprinting on. He was tiring, and his breathing was ragged, and he felt tiredness seep through his body.

The landscape was near to impossible to see. A jagged cliff looked out over them, and small trees and growths clung to the mountainside, desperate to hang on. The wind blasted snow into their faces, and Sakov struggled to see, only following the dim outlines of the dunmer ahead. And then, everything was cold and dark, and Sakov felt his face go numb. He was disoriented, and he knew he had fallen. He rolled to his feet, looking in all directions. The wind threw cold snow in his face, making Sakov squint. But he could not see the elves.

He risked going one direction, and for a minute he traveled on. His eyes searched frantically about, and he wished time would slow down for a second, because every second the elves were going farther and farther away. Sakov began to climb up a small hill before realizing with the appearing of a cliff above, that he was going the wrong way.

"Help!" Sakov yelled desperately. "Help!"

He fell again, and leaped back in shock, realizing he was inches from plummeting off the mountain cliff. His eyes widened in fear and amazement at the blurry site below. Riders, all over the mountainside, rode around in disciplined formations, spears resting in their hands. They turned their formation, turned it more, and started heading towards the base of the mountain that Sakov was on.

"Oh no." Sakov muttered, and jumped up to his feet, sprinting into the direction he thought the other dunmer were. The horn sounded again, a sound that drove Sakov harder. His thick cloak flew in his wake, and his weapons swung wildly as he sprinted, but he knew that he couldn't outrun horses.

The snow made his boots wet, and underneath his wool socks, his feet were as cold as ice.

The scenery around him flew by, and Sakov didn't take in any of it. He could hear the rumbling of the horses' hooves, and he had a feeling they knew he was up here. Sakov could barely breathe, couldn't feel his hands, and his hair was frozen with water and snow. The sound of the riders grew louder, and Sakov staggered on, calling desperately for help now. The cold knives of the wind attacked him at every step, and Sakov couldn't defend against the furious attack, only stumble blindly forward. Sakov could hear the voices of men now, and he turned instinctively.

Dark forms sped down the hill he had just come down, raising spears. Sakov yelled and dove to the side, rolling down a hill, crashing into several small trees as he went.

"Find him!" ordered a voice that sounded strangely familiar. "He's down there!"

Sakov began to draw his blade, but two strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to the side and behind a boulder.

"Quiet." Drizzon whispered. Sakov was too dazed to reply. Drizzon drew forth his bow, quietly fitting an arrow to the string. He drew back, and released, sending the arrow speeding past the riders and into a jumble of bushes. Ten riders jumped at the sound, and turned, stabbing their spears into the bush wildly, calling, "He's in here!"

The largest rider, the familiar one, turned, bringing forth a great axe, and growled.

"Ye in there?" The huge man laughed as he charged forward, huge axe swiping down. "No escape this time!"

Sakov, dazed as he was, felt a current of anger flow through his veins as he realized who it was. The man had tried to kill him twice before. Tor. Sakov nearly leapt forward, and it was only Drizzon's firm grip that kept him back.

Tor crashed through the bushes, kicking and roaring in anger. He went into a frenzy; axe cleanly severing the trunk of a small tree. It took him only a few seconds to realize that the dark elf wasn't there, and he cursed, slamming his axe, and embedding it halfway into the trunk of a huge evergreen.

"I want him found." Tor raged forward, jerking his axe out of the tree violently. "And if he isn't found, then I'll be tellin' the King, and he'll kill ye all slow, so get yerselves movin'!"

The riders erupted into motion, and Drizzon jerked Sakov to the left and Sakov followed his shadowy figure into the forest. Only after Sakov was sure they were far enough away did he dare mutter, "How did you find me, Drizzon?"

Drizzon shot a quick glance back at Sakov, his eyes surveying his surroundings.

"Realized you weren't there." Drizzon said shortly. "Followed our path back, heard you calling."

Sakov felt fear flutter inside of his heart as Drizzon's words reminded him of something.

"Our path!" Sakov said loudly, and Drizzon stumbled slightly at Sakov's loud tone.

"Quiet!" He hissed, but Sakov couldn't care.

"Our tracks, they'll follow our tracks!"

Drizzon looked back, at the wide-eyed Sakov, and shrugged.

"Perhaps, but the wind shall dispose of the tracks within the hour." Drizzon said and kept moving, but Sakov wasn't convinced. He kept silent though, trusting Drizzon's knowledge. The thicker trunks of the pine trees and the toughened bushes kept the wind at bay, and Sakov and Drizzon set a fast pace that led them south, judging by the position of the stars. The wind sighed heavily, throwing a cloud of snow into their faces, and Drizzon stopped for a moment to find his surroundings.

A moment later they were off, and Drizzon led them in the direction of a cliff that rose up like a giant and towered above them. The rock was worn from the wind, but like most of the cliffs they had seen in Skyrim, had many parts of rock that jutted out at angles, creating dark shadows. The rock was slick with ice, and huge icicles hung above, a few over Sakov's six-foot height. Sakov shot a glance back, and seeing nothing, followed Drizzon into a dark section of the cliff. The shadows made it impossible to tell how far back the cave went, and Sakov's senses were on the alert, so while his sight may have not been able to help him know if a wall existed in front of him, his hearing could.

A drop of water splashed to the ground ahead, and Sakov crept forward, also listening to Drizzon's movements to show him the way to go. Eventually, a dim light could be seen, and Sakov let his eyes adjust to the light before moving forward. A dim fire had been made, and the crowd of dunmer was around it, and judging by the strange white color of the fire, Rotilan had created it.

The cave was deep and shadowy, and the flames caused shadows to dance and flutter around the walls, and for a few seconds, Sakov watched a shadow change shape. The sound of dripping water was always there, a constant _tip tap _against the stone ground.

Sakov shivered, and looked back at the way they had come, seeing nothing but darkness. He moved closer to the fire, letting the warmth come over him, and suddenly, Sakov could feel his arms and legs again, and he winced as they burned. Drawing up his hood, he moved to the wall, sitting down with one knee bent and the other out, the fire warming his feet now. Sakov reached to his boot and drew forth a throwing dagger, and twirled it in his fingers, the blade reflecting the light of the fire. He drew forth his other hidden daggers, counting three all together.

He laid these weapons down, then drew his two short swords out. These two short swords were double bladed and strait, and he belted off the sheaths of the two, leaning them against the wall. And last, his long sword. He drew it forth, and its quiet ring echoed through the cave. The dark blade shimmered in a way, and Sakov, seeing a small nick in its surface, frowned, and drew out a sharpening stone from a pouch on his waist, and began to strike its surface. He repeated the activity for all his other weapons, and as he finished up with his last hidden knife, he felt a wave of exhaustion flow through him, and only then did he realize most of the other dunmer were sleeping, apart from Drizzon and another dark elf, who sat watching the opening to their cave. Sakov leaned back, and though the cave ground was rough, it didn't bother the elf. He began to drift off, and his eyes closed.

The first thing Sakov noticed was the light. Even from beneath his eyelids, the light was distinguishable, and he snapped open his eyes. Light crept through the cave opening, and Sakov realized he had fallen asleep, and for many hours by the looks of it. Drizzon, the stubborn and dutiful elf was still awake, obviously trying to resist the wave of exhaustion he surely felt. He was the only one awake.

Sakov, feeling much more awake and much warmer, pushed himself to his feet silently and went over to Drizzon. Drizzon didn't even seem to sense Sakov was near, and he jumped slightly when Sakov tapped his shoulder. His eyes were nearly closed, but Sakov knew he had not slept, and muttered quietly, "I'll keep watch."

Drizzon moved away from the cave opening and went into a corner, falling down almost immediately. Sakov moved to retrieve his own weapons, but after picking up his long sword, he decided that it was enough, and walked into the now retreating darkness of the cave opening. As Sakov came closer to the light, he realized just how late in the morning it was. His steps took him outside, and the light blinded him, and only after a minute could he determine that the sun was already high in the sky. It was a good day to continue their escape from Skyrim.

Sakov drew his sword and swung it in a slow circle as he leaned against the cliff wall. The sword hummed as it descended its circle, and it glowed dimly against the bright sun. Sakov bent down and picked up a handful of snow, remembering some of his small amounts of teaching about magic, and closed his eyes. The fire he hoped to summon soon came to life, melting the snow, and heating the melted water. Sakov let the magic go and washed his face with the warm water, feeling even more awake now.

He felt like going and scouting the area, but realized that wouldn't be a good idea, especially if the riders were still about. The riders…

_Tor is a rider? _Sakov thought to himself. _I thought he was a commander, but perhaps he is the commander of the riders. Seems strange though. _

Sakov looked out at the untouched blanket of snow before him, and then realized that everything wasn't white in his surroundings. The trees, the ground, the rocks, they were white, but in the distance, there was something silver. Sakov watched the thing shift, and he sank back more into the cave as he began to get a better view. It was a Nord, outfitted in the finest steel, and now that Sakov could see better, he saw that the Nord was sitting in a saddle. A huge horse came into view, and the Nord started looking all about, all the while clutching his huge spear. Sakov became one with the darkness, and fell back into the cave.

Without the warm sun, Sakov felt a wave of chilliness fall over him. He retreated further in and quickly grabbed the rest of his weapons. All the elves were still asleep. Sakov, though he knew it was slightly foolish, went forward towards the sunlight again, this time more cautiously and with a throwing dagger drawn.

He peeked around the corner of the rock quickly, then looked again, this time more slowly. The Nord was not there, but Sakov didn't go forward yet. He waited, and as he expected, heard the crunch of snow a few meters to the left of his view. He jumped lightly ahead, barely making a sound, and hid in another area of shadows.

He glanced around quickly, making sure there were not more Nords coming up from the side, and then, realizing it would be best to get back in the cave, jumped back and jogged into the darkness.

He listened carefully for any sounds of the Nord, but it sounded like the Nord had ridden off. Sakov sat down and stretched. While the others rested, he went through a series of strength building stretches.

He hadn't stretched or worked on strengthening in a few days, so it felt good to stretch out his limbs. The whole time Sakov made sure to keep listening to the sounds outside. If a Nord were to come, they would not catch him unprepared, he decided.

After an hour of the stretching, Sakov leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, and turned as an elf began to get up. Sakov watched the elf stretch and look around, and when he saw Sakov, he nodded and whispered, "No sign?"

"A Nord was outside only an hour ago." Sakov answered, and the other elf raised his eyebrows. He grabbed his bow and came over to where Sakov was sitting.

"I'll take watch." He offered, and Sakov thanked him, before going to their small amount of supplies to see if he could find anything to eat. As he opened the bag, and unwrapped a smaller one, the only food he saw was a large slice of bread, so he refused to eat it; he would not be the cause for the last of their food to go away.

It was as if the first elf getting up had triggered the others to awaken. They all started to open their eyes, most of them asking about if there was a sign of any Nords. Drizzon soon awoke, along with Rotilan, who was getting annoyed about the lack of food.

"-should have brought more!" Sakov heard him growl. Drizzon started taking out some maps, and Fyra went over to look at them. Sakov saw her shaking her head, and tell Drizzon something. He went closer.

"We can't go that way." Fyra was telling Drizzon. She pointed to the map. "Look, if we pass here, we're within a few miles of that Nord outpost, and the word is already probably out to them that we've escaped."

"Yes, I see." Said Drizzon, and he traced his finger over another route. "What about through the mountains here?"

"No."

It was Sakov who answered this time, and Drizzon looked up.

"Why?" Drizzon asked, and Sakov moved closer, gazing at the map.

"We are planning to get back to our ship, aren't we?" asked Sakov, and Drizzon looked at him in disbelief.

"Get back to our ship?" Drizzon asked. "No. Of course not. It will be guarded so tightly that it would be impossible for even a Nord to get near it."

Sakov stubbornly pointed to the edge of the map.

"Then are you planning on going all the way over this way and perhaps getting a ship there?" Asked Sakov, and Drizzon nodded.

"That was the plan."

Sakov scowled.

_Why does everything have to be so difficult? _Sakov thought angrily. He forced himself to calm down; it was not Drizzon or Fyra's fault, after all.

"Where did you think we would go?" Asked Fyra, and Sakov pointed back to the town where they landed.

"There. Listen, all we have to do is send three or four elves to the town at night. They sneak on, sail the ship a little down the coast, and pick up the rest of us." Sakov said simply. "It would save us days, days we don't have, days when we could be caught, days when we could starve."

Drizzon and Fyra looked at Sakov. Finally Fyra sighed.

"It sounds like it could work." She said, and Drizzon nodded slowly.

_Perhaps we'll be back in Morrowind sooner than I thought. _Sakov thought to himself.

"Well." Drizzon said, bringing Sakov back to the present. "We're not very far from that town, and it would be best to leave as soon as possible."

Drizzon stood, looked Sakov in the eye, and grabbed his bow and his quiver.

"Spread the word of your plan. I am off to scout the area. Be ready to leave when I return." Drizzon said as he secured his cloak. Sakov nodded, and went to the maps, looking at them with determination.

Fyra went off to retrieve her sword and shield, and left Sakov to plan on his own.

In the next hour, Sakov managed to explain the plan to all the elves, and had arranged the four elves that would sneak onto the ship: Fyra, Drizzon, himself, and Rotilan. There was a small rocky beach that would provide the other elves' place to wait until they arrived with the ship.

The biggest problem working against them was time. After they took off on the ship, there would most likely be a Nord ship only a few minutes behind, and an entire fleet an hour after that. They would have to sail quickly, and lose their pursuers in the ocean. The Nords may have had ships with better weapons, but the elves' ship was fast. Sakov hoped it would be fast enough.

Finally, after another half hour, the elves were ready, and now, they waited only for the return of Drizzon.

_Where is he? _Sakov wondered, and the idea entered his head of Drizzon being captured, but then he shook that thought away.

It did not take long for Drizzon to return. He reported that the riders were now searching the area west of the mountain, and they were safe to go. In single file, the elves went out into the sunlight.

It was past noon, but not by too much, so it would leave them a good five hours to travel. Sakov could clearly see the difference in the dunmer's steps as they walked. They were eager to be escaping.

The temperature was pleasant; it was brisk and a little windy, but pleasant. The night of rest had done well for all of them, and soon, they came across a strange bush of berry-like food.

Sakov took one off the vine, and looked at it curiously.

"I wonder how these grow in this weather?" Sakov wondered aloud, and Drizzon grabbed another berry, putting it in his mouth.

"It's a special type of berry." Drizzon said. "It is made in a certain way so the cold does not affect it much. It's edible." He added to the elves, who all came forward. There were many berries, and they were surprisingly filling, and after another hour of walking, they found two more of the plants, and soon, no one was hungry, and they started packing these berries in bags.

The bright sun was what warmed the area, for the air was still very cold. They kept walking, and they were not disturbed by any horns of riders, or riders themselves. It was as if the riders and the Nord scouts that had almost certainly been sent out didn't exist.

It was peaceful. But it wouldn't last. The moment of victory or defeat was near.

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading, and also, know that in these chapters, not all of the information is actually true to the games, for instance, I made up the King's riders. Again, thanks for reading!


	26. The Battle for Cyrodiil

**Wow, it has been almost half a year since I've updated. I owe everyone an apology for this long delay. For some reason I wasn't getting into this story, but hopefully now, I can try and keep writing this story more routinely. This chapter is not very long, but after so long, I needed to post something. That being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter. As always, reviews are appreciated!**

The gray clouds ahead seemed to surge with the energy of the combatants below that filled all of the area that surrounded the Imperial Palace

The gray clouds ahead seemed to surge with the energy of the combatants below that filled all of the area that surrounded the Imperial Palace. Yells, roars, and the ever sounding clash of steel against steel filled the area, the sound pressing down like a suffocating blanket, drowning all in its roar. The ground became torn under the sprinting of heavy boots and the boulders of catapults.

At the base of the Orc army, where the combat was the most fevered, stood Gogran. His great hammer struck again and again, flashing like a deadly bolt of lightning with the force of a giant. Gogran handled the hammer as if it were naught but a small sword. Under each swing another dark elf would crumple, yet Gogran had plenty to fight, they were all around, pressing in with bows and swords, flames and lightning, ripping the terrain open as if the ground itself was screaming.

And yet Gogran held the line. The Orcs around him fought all the harder next to their leader, who was often rumored among High Rock to be the strongest Orc fighter to swing a hammer. But there was no doubt that the line was being hit hard, and even the tough Orcs couldn't repel this strong spot of the attacking dark elf force.

Gogran's eyes flicked to the side as he heard an elf roar out, "Push them forward, get some more mages here!" Gogran roared and slammed an elf across the head with his hammer, his rage boiling like a great beast. With two great sweeps, Gogran slammed the nearest elves back, wounding a few and killing one.

"GET THOSE CATAPULTS GOING!" Gogran bellowed to another Orc, and the Orc ran off to convey the message, simple as it was. Coming back into the battle, Gogran slammed a redguard with his fist and one handedly snapped his hammer across his chest, sending an elf flying back. He roared again.

Not far away, listening intently, a dark elf found himself for one of the first times out of the action. But not for long. Savon had Dal Kav ready, a spell at the edge of his fingertips. He led the triangular formation of the surviving Imperials, Tapan near the rear.

They had passed through the Temple district easily; it seemed to have been deserted. But Savon was not convinced that they were safe. Something seemed to be out of place.

Stepping lightly over a broken part of the wall of the Imperial City, Savon moved to the main doors that led out, and began to pull. The well made gates swung easily as another Imperial began to help, and they moved out into the grass outside.

He narrowed his eyes, and motioned for the Imperials to keep going, and he stayed back, waiting for a sound. The clashing of the armies was deafening, but Savon could hear something else: was it running?

He turned his head slightly, watching the Imperials heading for the bridge that led west out into a spot of the battlefield. This new sound was becoming louder, and Savon began to back away; it seemed as though the sound was being blocked by the walls of the City in front of him. He could hear it more clearly now: it was the trampling of boots, and it was coming closer.

Savon's eyes widened in alarm and he turned, running in earnest towards the Imperials, shouting loudly, "Make for the bridge!"

The Imperials needed no further prompting. Staying in a rough triangle, they began to sprint, Savon gaining ground on them, and setting himself next to Tapan, who already had his sword out.

And then they were in the open. Almost three times the number of the Imperials, the group of Orcs came pounding across the trampled ground that the Imperials had just covered, roaring as they sprinted like madmen.

The Orcs were catching them. They were only halfway across the bridge and already the Orcs were a quarter. Savon shot a ball of fire quickly back over his shoulder, watching it leap hungrily on the Orcs, and throwing some Orcs off the bridge and into the water from the explosion.

The attack did little to slow the Orcs, and now Savon could see the rage in their eyes, and he called to the Imperials, "They're closing in, turn!"

Highly responsive, the Imperials stopped, the archers going to the back of the group. The bridge had only room for ten Imperials to stay on the front line, shoving the rest of the forces behind.

Savon leaped up on the stone parapet of the bridge, and with both hands heaved a fireball downwards into the group of Orcs, blinding both Imperial and Orc alike as a wave of heat rushed over all. Savon watched an Orc go flying over the bridge, fully alight, and crash into the water below.

The Orcs crashed into the shaky Imperial line like a battle ram. Savon saw Tapan already heavily pressed by a group of three Orcs, and he leaped down, his mind slightly fatigued from the spells.

Twirling Dal Kav, he slashed down at the neck of an Orc, and Tapan finished another. Savon was pressed immediately by an Orc wielding two blades, who rapidly wove them in at Savon, who couldn't counter. The Orc roared and hooked Savon's blade and pushed it to the side. Savon ducked as the other blade whirred above his head, but was slammed painfully on the shoulder by the pommel of the Orc's other blade.

Fighting back the pain, Savon kicked out at the Orc, who was pushed back for half a second while Savon prepared himself. The Orc rushed back in, and Savon went on the attack, putting all his strength and speed into finishing the Orc.

Around them the Imperial line was wavering, only barely kept up by the archers who were making a dent in the Orc forces. Tapan was pressed again by two Orcs, each with a spear, making it hard for him to get any attacks in. All was not looking well.

High above the Imperial City, robes swirling around him, Ron the Barbare watched the distant fighting on the bridge, seeing Savon clearly even from far away. He laughed, and casting another levitation spell, set off for the bridge, eyes reflecting the fire within them.

The ground shook with the might of the charge. Nearly one thousand redguards on horseback trampled across the ground, lances, swords, and axes already free from their sheaths.

The redguard cavalry struck flat ground quickly, and they urged their horses faster. A deep horn was blown, and then another from down the line as the charge reached full speed. Each heavily armored redguard yelled out, and together their voices joined as one, a challenge to their enemies.

The Nords lay ahead, and by the time they saw the dust cloud coming, it was too late. The trained cavalry broke through the feeble outer defense, sending the Nords scattering. The redguards swung and slashed everywhere, killing Nords in massive numbers, losing only a few of their soldiers.

"Penetrate the line!" A redguard commander yelled out, slashing down heavily at a charging Nord. "Beat them back, now, for Hammerfell!"

"Hammerfell!" Roared the redguards. Spinning his horse around, the commander blocked an arrow with his sturdy shield, and sent his sword spinning through the air and into the Nord's chest. The commander drew a second blade from his side, spinning his sword up and then down, plummeting it into a Nord's helmet.

But the commander heard something else apart from the ring of his sword. He heard a roar, and turned, and watched as a force of almost sixty ogres charged from the Nord line, each carrying a heavy club.

"Ogres, destroy them!" The commander yelled, and he rode boldly forward. An ogre roared and leaped at the commander, swinging his club heavily. The commander rode under the swing, and flashed his sword against the ogre's neck, but the blade barely drew blood.

The ogre roared again, and punched out with its fist. The commander went flying back off his horse. All around him the ogres were pounded and pummeling his trained warriors by the dozen. The commander spat blood and charged ahead, now much smaller than the ogre.

The commander slashed at the ogres arm, but again, did not penetrate. The ogre swung again with the huge club, and the commander only barely ducked. Lunging forward, the commander stabbed the blade deep into the ogres arm, feeling the blade finally stick.

Wrenching hard, the commander flew back from the ogre, clutching his sword, but utterly vulnerable. The ogre grunted in pain, and grasping the club in both hands, swung hard at the commander, sending him flying into the air, and into the mass of fighting.

The ogre turned, and clubbed another warrior, arm still stinging from the dead commander's attack.

From above, the effects of the battle were barely distinguishable. The armies had only begun, and though hundreds had died, there were still thousands. The armies had begun to split slightly, spreading out into smaller groups of fighting. The main battleground though, had remained the same.

Furious action pounded through the air as arrows punched into the air above, and swords, pikes, and axes seemed to strike every second, a constant sound of impact. Gogran had remained at the front of the line, bashing and slamming; every now and then the great hammer he carried would alight, and the dark elves, though they had great resistance to fire, would fall to the ground burning, their flaming figures distinguished over the minutes due to the light rain.

Far in the distance, over the din of the fighting, the sound of vultures screeched through the air, as the birds circled the edge of the woods, smelling the blood in the air. The light wavered slightly from behind the dark clouds above, and then, the last ray of dim sun that was cast on the ground, vanished. And the battle raged on.


End file.
